The Trust of a King
by brownpaperbags
Summary: Merlin is forced to use his magic at the worst possible moment. Sorry to all who had favorited my old story. For some odd reason it deleted all of my chapters and wouldn't let me upload them again. Here is round 2. Please, please, please review. I live for them, I really do.
1. Pronunciation Guide

**Author's Note: **_Ok, so I know this is not a chapter but I wanted to put this in at the front. I will be using Welsh intermittently throughout this story, very little at the beginning, but a lot in the later chapters. I figured it might be a good idea to give you all a little pronunciation guide just in case you are like me and have to pronounce things correctly. It seems a little difficult and you might have to think the word out to figure out how it sounds, but after you get used to it it's much easier. Trust me. _

_The consonants of the Welsh language are like English other than a few exceptions:_

_C: hard as in cat (never soft as in cent)_

_Ch: hard as in Scottish Loch or Bach (never soft as in church_

_Dd: th, as in then (never as in thistle)_

_F: v, as in of_

_Ff: F, as in off_

_G: hard as in girl, never gem_

_Ll: a Welsh distinctive, sounded as "tl" or "hl" on the sides of the tongue_

_R: trilled lightly_

_Rh: as if hr, heavy on the "h" sound_

_S: always as in sir (never as in his)_

_Th: as in thistle (never then)_

_Vowels-as in English, but with the general lightness of short vowel sounds:_

_A: as in father_

_E: as in met (when long, as in late)_

_I: as in pin (when long, as in eat)_

_O: as in not_

_U: as in pin (long as in eat)_

_W: as "double u" as in vacuum or tool, but becomes a consonant before vowels, as in the name Gwen_

_Y: as in pin; or sometimes as "u" in but (long as in eat)_

_*Side Note: In diphthongs each vowel is pronounced individually so Taliesin=Tally-essin_

_A diphthong refers to two adjacent vowel sounds occurring within the same syllable, in case you didn't know. Ex: eye, lain, leer….that sort of thing. _

_I hope this brings some help to everyone.I will be updating again within the next couple of hours so stay tuned! Hope you enjoy! _


	2. The World Comes Crumbling Down

Arthur knows. This was the only that thought that permeated the haze of terror in Merlin's mind. Good God, Arthur knows.

It wasn't meant to be like this. Merlin had always pictured himself telling Arthur of his secret talents calmly and rationally in a quiet room, and not, as he was now, in danger of dying. He knew, of course, that the idea of Arthur and magic coexisting calmly was hardly reliable, but he liked to dream big.

Arthur was looking at him with a mix of shock, betrayal, and perhaps a little fear. The griffin, who had been the cause of Merlin's spontaneous use of magic, cared very little for the emotional turmoil the young man was currently experiencing and lashed out with razor sharp talons.

"Move," Merlin grunted, shoving his king unceremoniously to the ground.

Merlin tried to jump out of the way of the griffin's attack and nearly made it, but was surprised when he felt claws rip through his shirt and into the flesh beyond. He was batted mercilessly to the dirt and he felt himself gasping for air. He attempted to get to his knees knowing that the griffin would not give him a long reprieve, but fire exploded across his shoulders and down his spine and he was forced down again. At least he had managed to roll over so that he could properly face his impending doom. He tried to think of a spell, but the fire in his back kept wiping any recognizable thought patterns from his mind.

He watched, dazed, as the griffin lifted its claws in what would be, Merlin knew, a killing blow. As death came speeding towards him Merlin accepted his fate and was pleasantly surprised when a bright sword collided with the creatures raised leg.

"Arthur," Merlin coughed out in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"Saving your miserable life," Arthur grunted as he swung his sword once more.

"That's sweet," Merlin replied dreamily, shock beginning to set in.

"Shut up Merlin. I am only doing this so that I can have the pleasure of killing you myself."

Arthur swung again at the creature and connected quite forcefully with its hind leg. The sword didn't do any lasting damage of course, only magic could do that. Merlin found he was rather annoyed that Arthur had refused to bring Excalibur with him. The king had argued that he wouldn't need it on a simple hunting trip and to bring it was only tempting fate to take it away from him. Idiot.

The griffin had backed away, attempting to find a way to deal with this new threat, but both men knew that it would not stay away for long. Merlin was alarmed to find himself drifting and it took nearly all the strength he had to focus once more.

"Arthur," Merlin gasped. "Give me your sword."

"What?"

"Give me your sword, Arthur. Now!"

"Why on earth would I do that," Arthur asked, turning to look at his servant incredulously while keeping half an eye on the griffin.

"It will take too long to explain. Just do it!"

Merlin could almost see the battle occurring within his king's mind. On the one hand, Arthur wanted desperately to trust in his friend, but the image of the young man's eyes flashing gold as he spoke ancient words with a power and confidence Arthur had never heard before was weighing heavily on him.

"Arthur," Merlin sighed, suddenly very tired. "Do you trust me?"

How could Merlin ask him that? He had used magic, to save their lives he knew, but magic all the same. He stared into Merlin's wide blue eyes and it was at that moment fate decided to blindside him and deal him a devastating blow. Those eyes. The same eyes that had stared at him remorsefully from the old, wizened face of Dragoon, the night his father died. Arthur had always felt he recognized the old man, but it wasn't until this moment, ill timed as it was, that he realized why. Arthur felt a strong urge to throw up.

Merlin could see the shift in Arthur's thoughts and briefly wondered what had caused it to occur. He would have to deal with that later however, for the griffin had decided to try its luck once more and Merlin could feel himself weakening. Black spots danced at the corners of his vision and he found his mind wandering far easier than it should have. It was now or never.

"Arthur, you useless prat," Merlin shouted. "Give me the damn sword or so help me I will take it from you."

Arthur merely stared at him, heedless of the terrible death speeding towards him.

With the last ounce of strength Merlin could muster he pushed himself up from the ground and willed Arthur's sword into his hands. He might have found the sight of Arthur nearly falling over as his sword was ripped from his grip comical, but at the moment it took all of his concentration to merely stand up straight.

The griffin sped towards the men once more, using its large wings to catapult closer feet at a time. Merlin clenched his jaw and spat out the word he had used when handling the griffin with Lancelot. How long ago that seemed. He had been a different person back then. Innocent, trusting, naïve. He was none of those things now.

The sword in his hands flashed a brilliant blue and Merlin had to avert his eyes or be blinded by the light. With a cry of rage and hurt, Merlin sent the sword speeding through the air. Why had Arthur found out this way? After all of Merlin's careful planning it was all crumbling around him and he found despair rising in him like a flood.

The sword connected with the griffin's heart and the creature was blasted off its feet, tumbling over and over until it finally went still, mere inches from where Arthur was cowering in the light of Merlin's power.

How odd this seemed to Merlin. Odd and sad. He never wanted to see Arthur cower like that, especially not from him. How was he going to make the king understand? How was he going to explain that everything he had done, had been for him?

Suddenly, Merlin's wound decided that it would no longer be ignored and the warlock gasped as pain overcame his senses. He could feel the furrows in his skin and knew they were deep, perhaps not life threateningly so, but the amount of blood he could feel sinking into his shirt was alarming.

Merlin had time to turn and meet Arthur's eyes, blackness eating away at his vision. He wanted to try and explain, but he knew unconsciousness would take him long before he could do so. Arthur's expression was unreadable and Merlin took what little hope he could from the fact that the king wasn't staring at him with disgust.

"Arthur," he breathed as his world turned black. "I'm sorry."


	3. Of Sorcerers and Bloody Neckerchiefs

Arthur had been knocked breathless by betrayal many times before. After all, he had an evil sorcerer for a sister and an uncle that had pretended to have his best interests at heart, but was really only helping said sister get her hands on his kingdom. Lancelot, a knight he'd believed to be honorable and the love of his life, Guinevere kissing as if their lives would be over the moment their lips parted. Even though he had eventually forgiven Gwen, the pain was still there, etched in tiny scars on his heart. Each betrayal had brought heartache so deep that Arthur had barely managed to resurface. Time and time again it had been Merlin, his friend and perhaps even his brother, that had dragged the king from his self-doubt, cursing him all the way.

Merlin had been lying to him the whole time. The magic was bad enough, but Arthur believed that perhaps he could have overlooked it if he had been told from the very beginning. Well, he reminded himself, perhaps not from the very beginning. If he had known that Merlin was a sorcerer within the first, perhaps even second year, of knowing the boy he doubted whether he could have kept that secret. After that though, considering how loyal Merlin had been to him, he believed that he would have kept his friend's secret even if he didn't like it. But now, after all he'd been through at the hands of magic, he wasn't sure he could accept it.

Perhaps Merlin was evil. After all, magic did have a way of corrupting the best of men, or so his father had believed. Perhaps Merlin wanted the throne of Camelot for himself and was only pretending to be Arthur's friend to make him vulnerable for when the time came to strike. Yet even as the thoughts took form in the young king's head he immediately shook them away.

No, Merlin wasn't evil, of that he was sure. There had been too many occasions where Merlin had saved his life when it would have been much easier to let him perish. So what was Merlin's angle? What had he hoped to achieve by forcing himself deeper into Arthur's life at immense risk to himself and his friends?

Arthur found himself staring at the unmoving man sprawled haphazardly across the dirt. He hadn't been able to force himself to move from his position beside the now very dead griffin and wondered if he was in shock. He knew Merlin was injured, even though the man had a habit of fainting quite spontaneously. He was suddenly and quite unexpectedly seized with a sort of dulled sense of urgency as the young mans blood seeped into the dirt.

He pushed himself up and stumbled wearily over to his manservant's side. He grimaced at the wounds on Merlin's back. They were long and deep and Arthur was sure it was far beyond what limited skills he had at mending wounds. Arthur toyed with the idea, however briefly, of leaving him to his fate but was filled with such disgust at the thought that he nearly retched. Merlin had been his friend up until this moment. The least he could do was give him the chance to explain, though he doubted any answer would be able to heal the hole in his heart.

"Merlin," he whispered, surprised at how little his voice sounded like him. "Can you hear me?"

There was a muffled groan and then Merlin was blearily blinking up at him. Despite the fact that the young man's face was grey with pain, eyes glassy and was, no doubt, in no condition to do much of anything Arthur found himself jerking away as if he were about to be slapped. He couldn't help but notice the flash of hurt that Merlin's eyes betrayed.

"Arthur," he said weakly. "Is it dead?"

Arthur glanced at the griffin, really seeing it for the first time. It certainly looked dead and Arthur dimly recalled the brilliant flash of blue light emanating from his sword.

"Merlin," Arthur asked hoarsely. "What did you do to my sword?"

"Its hard to explain," Merlin breathed, grimacing in pain.

"Explain it then," Arthur snapped.

Merlin breaths came in sharp gasps and Arthur immediately realized that he had done nothing whatsoever to help his servant. Merlin tried to speak, no doubt to attempt an explanation, despite the condition he was in, but Arthur shushed him with a hand. Did the idiot have no sense of self-preservation at all?

"Later," Arthur said softly. "For now let's see what we can do about your wounds. It's too late for us to make it back to Camelot tonight. We will just have to make due with what we have."

"Your helping me," Merlin asked, surprised.

"Don't make a big deal out of it," Arthur warned. "I still reserve the right to kill you at any moment."

Merlin smiled and closed his eyes. "Whatever you say, prat."

Arthur was bewildered at how comfortable he had been bantering with Merlin as if nothing had happened; as if nothing had changed. He wondered if Merlin was casting an enchantment on him, but quickly dismissed the thought. The anger was still there, shoved to the side at the moment, but still there. It was easier for him to deal with Merlin, the wounded friend, rather than Merlin, the wounded sorcerer. At least this was what he told himself.

He more or less had to drag his unconscious companion to what he hoped would be a suitable campsite for the night. He pressed a thick jacket Merlin had packed for him to the young mans wound to help slow the bleeding and covered the sleeping servant with a thin blanket from his horse's pack. This task accomplished Arthur set about making a camp. He collected water from a nearby stream and separated it into two different buckets, one to clean Merlin's wound and the other to use as a stable drinking supply. He spent at least fifteen minutes attempting to light a fire with the wood he had collected and wondered how Merlin always seemed to get it going so quickly. Perhaps he had used magic and this got Arthur wondering how often Merlin used his power and for what purpose. One of the many questions Arthur would ask once the boy woke up.

Normally, Arthur would complain about all the work he was doing, but for once in his life he was grateful that he had something to occupy his time. If he hadn't he was sure he would have gone crazy.

Once the fire had come to a decent height Arthur boiled one bucket of the water. He used Merlin's neckerchief as a cloth and dipping it into the hot water, attempted to clean the furrows in his skin as gently as he could. It seemed to Arthur that the use of his servant's beloved neckerchief was a sort of poetic justice and suddenly he was laughing and couldn't stop.

The laughter scared him. It sounded hollow and slightly manic to his ears, but he couldn't make himself stop. The panic hit him then. What was he going to do? How could he allow the sorcerer to live when Camelot's laws were horribly clear on the fates of those who practiced magic? Yet how could he bring himself to give the order that would end the life of his once best friend?

He was trapped with nowhere to turn and the one person whom he could always count on to give him sage wisdom in matters such as these was the very cause of his predicament. The laughter had somehow turned into tears and he realized that his whole body was shaking with the power of his sobs.

He had never sobbed in his life. Even when is father lay dying before him or when he had banished Guinevere he had allowed himself very few tears. Yet, here he was, sobbing uncontrollably over a sorcerer who had betrayed him. How proud his father would have been if he could have seen him in that moment.

He hadn't realized that Merlin had regained consciousness and was listening to his friend's sobs. Regret filled Merlin's heart and he wished more than anything he could have changed how his friend was feeling, but he knew that it was something Arthur would have to work through on his own. He had accepted that Arthur might very well reject him and he would be forced to continue his constant watch over the king in secret. It would make his destiny that much harder to achieve, he knew, but for Arthur he would make the effort.

Suddenly his back throbbed and Merlin was unable to stifle the gasp of pain that issued from his throat. Arthur's sobs abruptly stopped and the two men were left in ringing silence.

"Merlin," Arthur said. "Are you awake?"

"For now," Merlin replied.

Neither man mentioned Arthur's display of emotion and Arthur felt a surge of gratitude. Merlin attempted to shift position, but was stopped by Arthur's hand against the small of his back.

"Don't move," Arthur said, surprisingly gentle. "I haven't finished cleaning it yet."

"Hurry it up then," came the servants biting reply.

Arthur found himself smiling despite the odd situation they were in. Silence reigned as the king tended to Merlin's wound, the only sound being the low groans that managed to escape from Merlin's gritted teeth whenever his back gave a particularly nasty throb.

Arthur was quite impressed with himself by the time the job was done. He had neatly bandaged Merlin's back with material he had been given by Gaius for just such an occasion. The white fabric wrapped around the young man's chest and back, tightly but not so tight that the servant couldn't breathe. He helped Merlin find a more comfortable position then set himself the task of making supper.

Merlin watched his king bustle around the campsite making it a point to look anywhere but at his servant. It saddened him to know that they had come to this, but he supposed it was going to happen one way or another. The silence between them stretched until finally Merlin could not keep quiet any longer.

"Arthur," he said quietly, noticing how the kings hands tensed at his words. "What are you going to do?"

Arthur did not answer for a long time, so long, in fact, that Merlin wondered if the man was going to answer at all. Finally, his friend turned to look at him with haunted eyes over the flames. Merlin felt chills spread throughout his body. Perhaps this would be his final vision before death claimed him; the flames rising higher and higher and all the while Arthur staring at him with hurt and betrayal in his eyes.

"I don't know, Merlin," came Arthur's quiet reply. "I haven't decided yet."


	4. Fireside Chats

"How long," Arthur asked suddenly.

Merlin jerked his head up in surprise at his king's words. It was the first thing he had said to him in hours and the young man had nearly drifted off when Arthur asked his question.

"How long what?"

"How long have you had magic, idiot," Arthur snapped, a barely controlled anger smoldering in his eyes.

"Oh," Merlin said softly. "Since I was born. I never had a choice in the matter. It just picked me."

"You honestly expect me to believe that," Arthur snorted. "At least have the decency not to lie to me now Merlin."

"I am not lying to you," Merlin said wearily. "Believe it or don't, it makes no difference to me."

"Fine then. Let's just pretend for a moment that you were born with magic, why on earth would it choose an idiot like you?"

"A question I have asked myself every day, Arthur."

Arthur went quiet again, absorbing what he had been told. If Merlin was telling the truth, and Arthur still wasn't convinced that he was, it would mean that he had never chosen to practice magic. Arthur couldn't possibly condemn a man for something he had never had a choice in, could he? Perhaps there was a way out of this mess without having to sacrifice Merlin's life in the process.

"Why Camelot," he finally asked.

"You mean, why did I come to Camelot?"

"Yes," Arthur confirmed. "You must have known the laws. Why would you risk that?"

"I didn't know anything, Arthur. You have to remember where I came from. Ealdor was small and rarely had visitors from big cities like Camelot. I had no knowledge of Camelot other than that it was going to offer me a fresh start. My mother must have known, though. Yet she still felt that it was important for me to go. I didn't find out that magic was outlawed until I arrived."

"Did Gaius tell you?"

"No," Merlin replied, unable to hide the bitterness that crept into his voice. "Your father made it very clear how he felt about magic from the moment I arrived. My first memory of Camelot is the execution of one of my kind."

"Is that why you killed him," Arthur asked, his voice menacing.

"Killed who," Merlin asked, truly perplexed.

"My father," Arthur spat. "I know it was you, Merlin! Pretending to be that old sorcerer. I knew the eyes looked familiar. Why would you do that to me?"

"Oh Arthur," Merlin said sadly. "Do you really think I could do something like that? I tried so hard to save your father, but Morgana…well, lets just say your uncle had a great deal more to do with his death than I did."

"Agrivaine," Arthur said, hatred coloring his voice. Somehow he was not surprised by Merlin's response. Gaius had tried to tell him that the sorcerer had truly tried to heal the king. His questions on the subject were far from over, but for now he would let it go. "Do you know what happened to him?"

"I killed him," Merlin said softly. There was guilt in his words, but also, Arthur detected, knowledge that he had done what he had to.

"Killed him with magic, you mean?"

"Yes, Arthur. I killed him with magic."

"Do you do this often?"

"Not near as often as you would think," Merlin replied. His eyes were closed and Arthur felt a flash of worry at how pale his servant was.

"Merlin," he said sharply. "Do not go to sleep on me."

Merlin opened his eyes and stared at him with a slightly perplexed expression on his face. The flames danced across the planes of his face and cast eerie shadows against his skin.

"I never intended to do so, sire. I was only resting my eyes."

"Well don't," Arthur snapped. "Show me the respect I deserve, Merlin."

Merlin didn't answer him, but obediently kept his eyes open. Arthur didn't really care if his servant respected him or not, they were far past that now. He didn't want Merlin to know that he was worried about him, even though he suspected that Merlin had already guessed the real reason behind his outburst.

"What did you mean before," Arthur continued. "When you said that you didn't kill as often as I would think."

"Arthur, protecting you has been the most difficult thing I have ever done. You continuously ignore my efforts and manage to find yourself in more danger than anyone in the history of man. I have been chasing after you all over the place and have run into my fair share of unsavory characters. It's a wonder we got away with only a few deaths for me to atone for."

"Who?"

"Nimueh was the first," Merlin replied, his eyes glassy and far away, lost in a memory only he could see. "I killed her at the Island of the Blessed after we had bargained my life for yours."

"You what," Arthur asked flatly.

"Its not important, Arthur."

"Yes it is. You said you bargained your life for mine. That isn't something you just shrug off like its no big deal, Merlin."

"The Questing Beast," Merlin began. "I am sure you remember. Its bite was supposed to be a death sentence. I tried as many spells as I could think of, but nothing worked…..save one. There was a cup, you see. It was rumored that if one was to drink from this cup then their wounds would be healed no matter what the cause. Yet there was a price. A life for a life. To make a long story short, I traveled to the Isle of the Blessed with every intention of sacrificing my life for yours. Gaius however, attempted to take my place. Nimueh offered me a place at her side and when I turned her down she tried to kill me. I got her first. The balance of life and death was restored and you got to keep on being a prat."

"Why would you do that? Sacrifice yourself for me, I mean."

"You are my destiny, Arthur. And I am yours. We could no more avoid each other than the stars and the moon. Its just meant to be."

"I don't understand," Arthur said desperately. " Help me understand."

Merlin was quiet for a long time and Arthur grew increasingly worried that the young man had passed out. He had almost gotten up to shake him when Merlin finally answered.

"There is a prophecy, you know. It says that you will be the greatest king the world will ever see and that together, you and I will unite all the lands of Albion."

He said this as if he had said it a thousand times before and Arthur could hear his belief in the words.

"You really believe that," Arthur asked, though he already knew the answer.

"I do," came the steady reply. "I believe it with all my heart. Just as I believe in you, sire."

Arthur was at a loss for words.


	5. Fever Dreams and Prophetic Dragons

Arthur watched Merlin carefully over the next few hours and grew increasingly worried. The young man was warm to the touch and was shivering slightly even though the air wasn't cold.

"Don't you dare die on me, Merlin. There is a pyre with your name on it, you stupid idiot and you won't rob me of the satisfaction of killing you."

"Please don't," Merlin said quietly, his eyes haunted. "Don't joke about that."

"Who said I was joking, Merlin," Arthur said attempting to engage his manservant.

"Don't," Merlin said again. "You have no idea, do you? Of the fear I lived in everyday. I watched so many others burn and I knew that it could be me up there. My kind were slaughtered, Arthur. No matter what your father called it to help ease his conscience it was never anything but murder. So don't make a joke about something as horrible as that, Arthur. No one is laughing."

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered. " I didn't mean to-"

"Your kind never does."

"My kind, Merlin?"

"You hate something because you don't understand it," Merlin replied, his tone soft but Arthur could hear the anger in it. "You convince yourself that its evil because its easier than searching for the truth. It's not your fault that your father hated magic, Arthur. I could never blame you for that. What I can blame you for is that you never bothered to seek the truth for yourself."

"You never gave me that chance, Merlin. You lied to me. I could have kept your secret. You could have confided in me."

"There were so many times I wanted to tell you, but things kept getting in the way. I am so tired, Arthur. I am so tired of the lies and the fear and the guilt. I just want to sleep. Can't I just go to sleep?"

"No," Arthur said sharply. "Stay awake, Merlin. Tell me about this prophecy of yours. Who told it to you?"

"Kilgarrah," the boy sighed.

At first, Arthur thought he'd said something magical, like a spell or incantation. It took him a long moment to realize that Merlin had uttered a name.

"Who?"

"The Great Dragon. Remember him? Big winged fellow?"

"The dragon I killed?"

For some odd reason this statement elicited a weak chuckle from his friend.

"You didn't kill him, Arthur."

"Did you?"

"No," Merlin said softly. Arthur waited patiently for the young man to elaborate, but Merlin wasn't going to make it that easy.

"What happened to him then?"

"Oh, he's flying around here somewhere."

"You mean to tell me that the dragon is still alive?"

"Honestly, Arthur, are you really this dull? I just said he was flying around didn't I? Do dead dragons fly because if they do its news to me."

"Shut up, Merlin."

"Only if you will."

"So this, what did you call him, Kilgarrah told you that you and I were destined to unite all of Albion?"

"Yes," Merlin said, attempting to pull the blanket closer to him as his shivers increased. "But first I had to make sure you lived long enough to get there. That was the challenging part."

"You tried to tell me," Arthur said softly. Merlin gave him a long look and waited for him to continue. "All those times you told me that you saved my life and I always thought you were joking."

Merlin nodded from across the flames. "I've been stabbed, stung, poisoned, froze, and knocked out all in the name of King Prat."

"I thought you were evil," Arthur said and was surprised to see Merlin flinch. "I don't now, but I did before. Just for a moment."

Merlin went oddly still and when he looked at Arthur he felt shivers go down his spine.

"I've done bad things, Arthur," Merlin said, so quietly that Arthur had to strain to hear him. "All of them were done with the best intentions, but they were bad all the same."

Arthur could tell this was causing the man distress and he was unsure of what to do. He could tell, by the way his friend was shivering, that he was sick, but whether this was from an infection or some toxin found in the griffin's claws he didn't know. There was little he could do to ease his friends pain and knew that it would be impossible for him to carry the man, injured in the dark.

"We'll talk about it in the morning, Merlin. For now lets get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow."

Arthur could tell Merlin was attempting to fight the darkness threatening to overtake him, despite his earlier wishes of sleep.

"Arthur," he gasped out before he would allow himself to close his eyes. "Where does this leave us? I am sorry for lying to you. I really am. I swear I have done everything I can to protect you and want you to know that you have nothing to fear from me. You believe that don't you? Please say that you believe that and understand why I have done what I have. Please sire. I couldn't bear it if-"

The young man was getting more agitated by the minute and it was clear to Arthur that the fever had finally taken hold of his friends mind. He got up quickly and sat beside the man, quieting him instantly.

"Merlin, you and I have a lot to talk about. There are things that need discussing and explaining and I can't promise that I won't be angry, but what I can promise is that no matter what happens I won't forget the things you have done for me. It may be difficult for awhile, but I believe that we can make it work as long as we are honest from now on. "

Arthur was surprised to find that he meant every word. He had been betrayed certainly but as Merlin himself had put it only with the best intentions. He would try and make this work because the more he thought about it the more he realized just how loyal Merlin had been to him over the years.

Merlin had finally succumbed to sleep, but Arthur got very little that night. His friends fever was on the rise and when he turned the boy over to check on the wound he found that the bandages had soaked through. The wounds seemed to be far worse than he had originally thought and for the first time that night Arthur was concerned that his friend might not survive the journey home.


	6. Who Called the Reaper?

The following morning fared no better for the two men. Arthur was exhausted not only physically but emotionally as well. He had spent most of his night thinking and worrying over his friend, who had only gotten worse as the night progressed. When Arthur had redressed the sorcerer's injuries he had been horrified by the condition the wounds were in. The bleeding had slowed very little and while this concerned Arthur greatly it was quickly outdone by the thin black lines creeping across Merlin's back just beneath the surface of his skin.

So the griffin was the cause of his servant's untimely illness. Arthur did not recall the griffin that had attacked Camelot several years earlier ever showing signs of being venomous, but had to remind himself that he had been unconscious for a great deal of that encounter. By the time he had woken up again the griffin was defeated and his knights were either dead or unharmed. No one had ever looked closely enough to see what sort of wounds had been inflicted.

Arthur felt desperate. If this had been a mortal wound he could have handled it. Slap a bandage on the young man and get him to Gaius as quickly as possible. Now, however, with the element of magic suddenly being tossed in his face he wasn't sure how to respond. This was Merlin's area of expertise, not his.

Luckily, the boy had woken up a mere hour later, and while his fever remained high, he was at least semi-lucid.

"I've compiled a list," Arthur said, attempting to distract his servant from how awful he must be feeling.

"What," Merlin asked, jumping as if he hadn't known Arthur was even there.

"A list, Merlin," Arthur answered, trying to hide his concern. He spooned his servant out a steaming bowl of the measly breakfast Arthur had managed to concoct. Merlin took it, but did not eat.

"A list of what, sire?"

"A list of all the things that haven't added up in the time that I have known you."

"That must be quite the list," Merlin said with a faint smile. His hair was plastered to his face and Arthur could tell he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Merlin," he said abruptly. "I don't know what to do."

"You rarely do, Arthur"

"Damn it, Merlin. I am being serious. You are sick and its magical, I think, and I have no idea how to help you. Magic is your thing, right?"

"I believe that we have spent the entire night establishing that magic, is indeed, my thing."

"Then tell me what to do," Arthur shouted in exasperation.

"I don't know," Merlin whispered. "I sort of learn things as they come along."

"Well, can't you heal yourself or something? I know you know how to do that. You must have done it to me a hundred times."

Merlin raised his glassy eyes to meet his own and grinned weakly. "Is that on your list?"

"Perhaps," Arthur replied.

" I can't heal myself, Arthur. It doesn't work like that. Gods know I wish it did, but it doesn't. Even if it did I have never been the best at healing spells."

"This is ridiculous," Arthur cried, tugging on his hair in frustration. "How is it that you manage to be useless in everything you do?"

"That wasn't very nice."

"It's true, isn't it?"

"No. I am very good at magic, Arthur. Dangerously good."

"Obviously not since you can't even manage a simple healing spell."

"I already told you! It doesn't-"

"Work that way, I know. I'm just…I'm scared, Merlin. If you died I would never forgive myself."

Both men were quiet for a long time after Arthur's admission. The king was lost in his own thoughts once more and Merlin was fighting a losing battle against the sickness raging within him.

Arthur believed that the poison coursing through him was attacking his physical body, but Merlin knew better. The creature was of the Old Religion and its darkness was powerful and hungry not for his flesh but for what lay deeper at the very heart of him. Merlin's life source was the ultimate goal; his magic, perhaps even his soul, for he knew that all three intertwined with one another. The darkness was ripping and clawing its way through him to discover the source of his power and once it was found there would be no stopping the thing inside from tearing it out.

To say the experience was painful would be an understatement. Though he did not show it he was in agony as his magic attempted to subdue the presence burrowing its way closer to its prize. He was sure that Gaius wouldn't be able to help in this matter and he was left with the only other option available to him. He had dreaded this, but perhaps the timing would never be more ideal than what it was now. Besides, he had told Arthur that he would be honest with him.

"The Druids," Merlin whispered, wincing a bit as a fresh wave of agony tore through him.

"What did you say?"

"The Druids can help," Merlin said. "In fact, they may be my only chance."

"I'm not sure that is a good idea, Merlin. The druids and I aren't exactly friends, if you recall. Can't Gaius do something?"

"I don't think so," Merlin answered, shaking his head. "At least not in time. There is nothing to worry about, Arthur. The druids wouldn't dare turn Emrys away in his time of need."

"What does Emrys have to do with anything," Arthur inquired, before his eyes opened wide and his breath caught in his chest. "You?"

Merlin nodded, leaning his head back against the tree bracing him up. His vision was swimming dangerously and for some odd reason felt his power building up inside him, even though he wasn't calling it forth.

"You mean the entire time that I have been searching for Emrys I have really been searching for you?"

"You would be correct in that assumption," Merlin said softly, closing his eyes against the onslaught of dizziness that had all but knocked him flat. Merlin smiled. Arthur would never let him live it down if he managed to fall over sitting down and with a tree behind his back. Yet as the dizziness grew and the power swelled Merlin began to count this as not only a possibility but something very likely to occur within the near future.

Merlin knew Arthur was talking to him, but couldn't quite make out his words over the rushing in his ears. As his power grew so did his nausea and he nearly threw up all over himself. The magic was building higher and higher inside him, the rushing getting louder with every passing moment.

Suddenly, all went quiet and Merlin barely caught Arthur's last words.

"Merlin," he said in awe. "Just how powerful are you?"

Not a moment after his words were spoken, all hell broke loose.


	7. The Line Between Crazy and Insane

Arthur would remember this moment for the rest of his life. In fact, as the years went by he would often question himself on whether the whole occurrence had been a dream, but he usually decided that what he had witnessed would be impossible, even in dream world.

The campsite had come alive. Objects that should have remained stationary were suddenly zooming through the air as if they had a mind of their own. Pots collided with one another and Arthur had to cover his ears against the noise of clashing metal. He narrowly missed being skewered by his own sword as it whizzed past him before embedding itself in a nearby tree.

Tree's groaned above him and Arthur's sense of wonder and slight amusement, suddenly turned to fear. The trees were moving. If it had been merely the branches swaying to and fro perhaps he could have handled it, but whole trees had uprooted themselves from the ground, their roots trailing behind them like tentacles and with nothing to support their weight they came crashing to the ground.

Lightning flashed and the sky turned a charcoal gray, clouds seething together in a giant, furious mass. Even as rain began to fall, lightning thundered down all around him and Arthur was sure that he would be killed, but as long as he stood still none came close to him. Fire erupted from the many spots in which lightning had struck. The flames began small, but as Arthur watched, horrorstruck the flames grew into an unnatural wall of heat and destruction, reaching towards him with deadly fingers.

Arthur backed away, attempting to keep his fear in check lest he do something stupid. He turned to make his way farther from the fire, but was stopped by a giant whirlwind that had suddenly appeared a hundred yards away from him. The wind was not powerful enough to knock him off his feet, but it whipped his hair about his face and blew dust into his eyes and mouth. Coughing, he stared at the windstorm wearily. It had not moved, but continued to spin devastatingly fast, kicking up debris from everywhere around it.

Arthur couldn't help but feel that he had seen this same windstorm somewhere else. He realized how odd it was to be having such rational and calm thoughts when the world could very well be ending. The familiar feeling continued to nag him, however, and since neither the fire or the wind seemed to be moving he allowed himself a small moment to think on it.

The sudden memory of Merlin's old friend Will from Ealdor popped in his mind. The young man had performed this exact same spell, unless, perhaps it hadn't been Will at all. The boy had been dying and could have easily covered for Merlin since he had nothing to lose. The longer he thought on it the more right it felt and he realized that this was Merlin's magic.

Good God, Arthur thought. If this was the destruction Merlin's magic could bring than Arthur and all the knights of Camelot would have never stood a chance. But why was Merlin doing this. Hadn't he shown that he would accept Merlin for who he was? What the hell was the man trying to prove?

He angrily turned to confront the man where he had last seen him sitting, but the sight that greeted his eyes was the last thing he had expected. Merlin was screaming.

Arthur rushed to his friend's side, narrowly avoiding a lightning strike and all but falling over himself as a pot collided with his legs. The moment Arthur landed beside his companion, Merlin's screaming stopped, but the chaos around them continued on stronger than ever before.

The young man was rigid as if some current were coursing through him and he was gasping, trying to breath but not seeming to be able to pull in enough air. His eyes blazed gold and agony was written all over his face. Arthur reached a hand out to offer what little comfort he could, but jerked back when his hand made contact with Merlin's flesh. The warmth of Merlin's skin had scalded him, leaving a red, irritated patch on his fingers. What the hell was going on?

"Merlin," Arthur shouted, attempting to be heard over the roar of the chaos around them. "Stop it!"

Merlin looked at him then, as if realizing for the first time that his king sat beside him. His eyes were full of fear and pain and tears spilled across his cheeks leaving grimy tracks upon his skin.

"I don't know what is going on, Merlin," Arthur cried, his heart breaking at the sight of his servant. "But you have got to stop it!"

"I can't," came the man's agonized reply. "Arthur, you have to do something. I can't control it."

"We'll just wait until it stops. It has to peter out at some point right?"

Arthur attempted to sound more confident and in control than he was. The truth was that he was terrified, but he was determined not to abandon Merlin now. Not after they had come this far together.

"It can't wait that long," Merlin gasped, trying to get Arthur to understand. "I'm going to hurt people, Arthur. Possibly even kill them. You have to stop me!"

It took Arthur a long moment to decipher just what Merlin was asking of him. He turned to stare at his friend in horror as realization slammed into him.

"You want me to kill you," Arthur stammered. " Is that what you are asking me? No, Merlin, that won't happen."

"Please Arthur," Merlin begged. " It hurts too much. Just please."

"I'm not giving up on you without a fight you useless dollophead. I've dealt with your idiotic babblings for far too long to just allow you to go like that. You've still got my boots to clean, my stables to muck out, my armor to polish. You aren't going to get out of your duties that easily, Merlin."

As he spoke he moved around so that he was sitting behind Merlin and the boy's head rested rigidly against his chest. He winced a little at the heat that was seeping through his shirt, but ignored it. Merlin was staring up at him and past the pain and fear, Arthur could see disbelief begin to form.

"Arthur," Merlin rasped. "Get out of here."

"Not a chance, Merlin. Now copy my breathing you idiot. In and out, in and out. You are in control of this, Merlin. Not the other way around."

"Arthur," Merlin pleaded, but the king ignored him.

"Breathe, Merlin. Force it back in. You can do this, I know you can. I…I trust you, Merlin."

Merlin had barely been listening to the king's words as he had tried to regain control of the magic that had suddenly burst forth from him after a particularly vicious attack from the griffin's dark power. He could hear the king attempting a calm, soothing voice and he might have thought this extremely entertaining had he not been in such blinding agony. His back arched as the power continued to force its way out of him, but Arthur held him down with an arm across his chest. He could feel Arthur's erratic heart beat through his shirt, or perhaps that was his own.

The king was saying something to him, but Merlin could not concentrate long enough to make out the words. Arthur gripped him tighter and his mouth rested just above his ear. This time Arthur's words came to him as if amplified. He started to pull away but froze at what his friend was saying.

"Breathe, Merlin. Force it back in. You can do this, I know you can. I….I trust you, Merlin."

Merlin's heart stopped as the words and their meaning sunk into him. Arthur trusted him, not just the clumsy manservant, but the warlock as well. Arthur trusted him as Emrys and his breath caught in his chest as sheer happiness spread through him.

Arthur's acceptance seemed to calm the storm of power inside him and he felt his control getting stronger. He struggled to copy the rise and fall of Arthur's chest and as he did so the pain began to recede. He concentrated on pulling the magic back into him, using Arthur's voice as an anchor in which to ground himself. Little by little, he pulled his power back until finally he felt it firmly under his control once more.

Arthur had watched in amazement has Merlin struggled to end the chaos that surrounded them. The man's breath was harsh and ragged, but to Arthur's surprise it began to mirror his own. The king continued his encouragement, his arm holding Merlin tightly to his chest. Slowly, but surely the spells began to weaken as Merlin regained control. The wall of flame dimmed until it was nothing but embers and the whirlwind vanished into little eddies of air, swirling harmlessly around them. Objects that had once been flying around the campsite suddenly dropped to the ground and Arthur wrapped himself around the manservant lest anything injure him further.

Merlin's breathing began to even out and Arthur watched as the last bit of gold dimmed from his eyes. He went lax in his grip and smiled up at Arthur weakly, his blue eyes muddy with exhaustion and receding pain.

"You clotpole," Merlin said, his voice harsh in his throat. "I could have killed you."

"Nah," Arthur replied. "I don't think so. You are too useless to get the job done correctly."

Merlin laughed softly, but his face quickly turned into a grimace of pain. The griffin's power certainly hadn't waited long before it had started its assault once more.

"What is it," Arthur asked in alarm. "What's wrong?"

"I think some urgency might be required here, sire. I…I don't know if I can survive something like this again. Whatever this power is, I think its winning."

"Then we have druids to find," Arthur said. "Know where to start?"

"No," Merlin sighed. "But Kilgarrah will."


	8. A Rose by Any Other Name

**Authors Note: **_Ok, so I wanted to first thank all of you for your wonderful reviews! They are making me want to write this so much more! Also, special thanks to readernurse for helping me realize that my chapter 2 and my chapter 3 was switched! Dash it all! It is now fixed and I am eternally in your debt. Now I wanted to clear up a question I was given by saroura92. You mentioned that Aithusa could heal Merlin because she healed Morgana, which is an excellent point and one I have thought one while writing the story. I decided, in the end, to leave her out for two reasons. First, I am not convinced she is actually a good dragon. In the Arthurian legends, the real ones, there is a tale of an epic battle between a red dragon (Kilgarrah) and a white (Aithusa). The red dragon is meant to represent Camelot and the white is meant to represent the Saxon horde, I believe. Secondly, both the wounds that dragons have healed in the show have been fairly natural ones. Merlin was stung by Serkets and Morgana had the many injuries she sustained in her last takeover of Camelot. Since both the griffin and the dragons are creatures of the Old Religion and the poison that is attacking Merlin is purely magical I decided to take creative license and make it so that it would beyond the abilities of the dragons to heal those kinds of wounds. Hope that makes sense and answers your question. Now on to Chapter 7!_

"Are you sure about this, Merlin," Arthur asked in concern as he helped his servant to his feet. "You don't look well enough for this."

"I'm not," Merlin grimaced, swaying until Arthur put out a hand to steady him. "Considering my options, though, I don't have much of a choice."

"Still," Arthur argued. "Don't you think you should rest for a moment? It wasn't less than five minutes ago that you….well, I don't know what you did, but it was….intense."

"Intense," Merlin muttered, rolling the word around in his mouth. "I nearly destroy the forest and you use the word intense."

"Merlin, I was trying to be nice. If you insist on acting like such a dollophead I won't bother."

"Weren't you the one who said dollophead wasn't a real word?"

"Shut up, Merlin."

To be honest, Merlin was grateful for the playful banter. It allowed him to take his mind off the churning nausea in his gut and the pounding of his head. Never mind, the coldness he felt steadily creeping through his veins setting his nerve endings hissing in pain. He wasn't going to talk about that, though. There was no use telling Arthur about something he couldn't help with. It would only worry the prat and right now Merlin needed Arthur as calm and collected as he could possibly be.

Arthur watched his friend, worry slithering around in his stomach like snakes. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said that Merlin didn't look well enough to be standing, never mind walking. In fact, Merlin looked rather corpselike and Arthur winced as the idea of Merlin dying became a very harsh reality. He wasn't even sure entirely what was going on inside the man, but he knew that it wasn't good.

"So," Arthur said, just to get his mind off the one thing that truly sent fear jolting down his spine. "How exactly do you find a dragon? Do you have some kind of magical whistle that you can use or-"

Arthur stopped at the look on Merlin's face. It was one of mild disgust and Arthur realized that he may have said something offensive. Well, it wasn't his fault he didn't understand a damn thing!

"Arthur," Merlin said frowning. "Kilgarrah is a creature of the Old Religion, you don't use a magical whistle. He'd probably set you on fire for merely suggesting it. In fact, when he gets here you should probably let me do the talking. I wouldn't want to have to explain to Guinevere why I brought her back an extra crispy husband."

"So how exactly do we get him here then," Arthur asked, refusing to reply to the jibe.

Merlin looked uncomfortable and Arthur watched as ran a nervous hand through his already disheveled hair.

"Can't we just talk about his later," he asked hopefully, his eyes dull but his voice bright.

"No, Merlin. We cannot. If I am about to be faced with a fire breathing monster I should at least know what I am getting into."

"He's not a monster," Merlin snapped. "Just because you are of the Old Religion doesn't make you evil."

"From what I have seen so far that is exactly what it makes you, Merlin!"

Merlin winced and Arthur wondered why he looked so hurt. What had he said now?

"I'm of the Old Religion," Merlin whispered, his eyes downcast.

"What," Arthur said in shock as understanding began to permeate his brain.

"I'm a creature of the Old Religion, Arthur. I don't have claws or feathers or the tail of a snake, but the Old Religion is just as much a part of me as it is Kilgarrah or the griffin we faced."

"I don't understand," Arthur found himself saying for the hundredth time that day.

"Its alright," Merlin told him softly. "I didn't expect you to, really. How can I explain so that you get it? Magic has been around forever, Arthur. And it's everywhere. In the trees, the rocks, the water, the air. It touches everything. Your father tried to destroy it, but he never would have been able to. It will last long after we man has gone."

He paused as a rush of horrible pain filled him, but he found that as long as he closed his eyes and concentrated on pushing it back down again he could manage. He felt Arthur's hand on his shoulder and was thankful that his friend was with him. Attempting to explain magic to Arthur however was a sort of pain in and of itself. When had his life gotten so complicated? Oh, wait, it had always been like this.

"I'm fine," Merlin said, straightening up. "It's passed. Oh, don't look at me like that Arthur! Do you know how many times I have had to watch you strut around with broken ribs or an arrow in your leg pretending you were alright? Don't make a fuss."

Arthur wondered how Merlin had ever hid this side of himself from the king. It was Merlin, no doubt, but he was so much more confident and in control. His entire demeanor had switched from clumsy, bumbling servant to a calm, collected, and dare he say it, wise man.

"Go on then," Arthur grunted, taking his steadying hand away but watching for any signs his friend was going to fall.

"As I was saying," Merlin began as if he had never been about to retch with the agony ripping through him. "Magic is neutral, really. It's neither good nor evil. It simply is. What people do with that magic, however can make it into something wonderful or something dark."

"Is everyone part of the Old Religion?"

"No," Merlin said smiling slightly. "Sorcerers are only able to tap into it, borrow it for lack of a better word. They have to give it back in the end."

"But you are a sorcerer, Merlin. How can you be a sorcerer and be a part of the Old Religion?"

"You assumed I was a sorcerer," he told Arthur. "I didn't contradict you because at the time it was easier than explaining. I'm a warlock, Arthur. They are extremely rare and there are very few of them still alive after the Great Purge. In fact, from what I understand there are only three. We don't borrow magic….we are magic."

"I see," Arthur said, even though he really didn't. "There are two others like you? Who?"

Merlin grimaced. He didn't want to answer, but there was no turning back now.

"Well, do you remember the druid boy you helped escape from Camelot? His name is Mordred and he's one of them."

Arthur nodded, accepting this. "And the other?"

Merlin's eyes wouldn't meet his and the young man shuffled his feet nervously. Arthur waited patiently; he wasn't going to let go of this if his life depended on it.

"Arthur," Merlin said, pain that had nothing to do with his wound evident in his voice. "I tried to help her, honestly I did. Maybe I could have done more, but-"

"What are you talking about, Merlin," Arthur asked sharper than he meant to.

"I had to make a choice," Merlin continued as if he hadn't heard him. "It was the kingdom or her. Please understand that it was one of the hardest things I have ever done, Arthur. I knew what she was, or at least suspected, but I couldn't help her without telling her my secret and I had to be there for you. And then, before I had the chance to really make a decision on what to do with her, I had to, God I had to poison her."

"Merlin," Arthur found himself shouting, he didn't like the fear that was oozing its way into his chest. "Who?"

"Morgana," came Merlin's agonized reply. "Please believe me, I tried everything I could. I only poisoned her to end the spell, but Morgause found us and I gave her a choice. I told her that she could release the spell and I would give her a way to make an antidote or she could let Morgana die. She released the spell and took Morgana with her, but I swear Arthur I didn't know that she would come back the way she did. Please, understand. Forgive me, but I did what I had to."

Arthur felt his stomach plummet and he had to sit down. His whole life had come crashing down around his ears in one single swoop. He didn't blame Merlin, not really. Somehow he knew that the boy had done all that he could, but the anger was there. It must have been written all over his face because Merlin stepped back with alarm in his eyes.

Suddenly the servant stopped with such a horrible look on his face that Arthur's anger dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. The young man crashed to his knees and threw up what little food he'd had all over the forest floor. When he was done he fell over on his side and did not get up again.

"Merlin," Arthur called, more worried now than ever before. "Merlin, are you alright?"

The king received no answer.


	9. How to Call Your Dragon

**Author's Note: **_Alright all, chapter eight is officially here. I wanted to make it an extra long one because I might not be able to update for a few days. I have nerve damage in one of my hands and if I type for extended periods of time it really gets it irritated. Believe me, numb, tingly fingers suck! And I have been typing a ton so they need a rest. However, I promise that I will update very quickly and very soon. I know that reviews may inspire me to pick up the proverbial pen a little quicker so feel free to leave any encouragement or critiques you have. There is nothing that thrills me more than seeing that email in my inbox. Hooray! Welp, hope you all enjoy Chapter 8 and I look forward to writing more soon. _

"Merlin," Arthur shouted desperately, finding himself at his friend's side for what felt like the millionth time that day. "Merlin, answer me!"

"It's alright," Merlin mumbled, his eyes still closed and face deathly pale. "Stop shouting in my ear, you great clotpole."

"You didn't answer me," Arthur said accusingly. "I thought something was seriously wrong with you."

"Something IS seriously wrong with me," Merlin grimaced, his eyes finally opening. They were glassy and Arthur could tell that Merlin was quickly losing his grip on whatever feeble strength he had managed to hold onto. "I need to call Kilgarrah, Arthur. Sooner rather than later."

"You still haven't told me how to get him here," Arthur said, watching wearily as his manservant sat up. "How do I call him?"

Merlin glanced at his friend in grim amusement.

"YOU don't do anything," Merlin replied. "I have to do it."

"Why?"

"Because I am the Dragonlord."

"You're the what?"

"The Dragonlord."

"Yes, I heard you the first time. What is it exactly?"

"Its me."

"Merlin, what have I told you about trying to be funny?"

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood, sire."

"Well don't. You don't have time for lightening the mood."

"Perhaps you're right, but just this once."

Arthur refused to rise to the bait even though every inch of his being wanted to. It was so much easier like this, passing the time like they always had, but Arthur knew that things were different now. He knew that he had a responsibility to keep Merlin alive and couldn't do so while playing the insult game.

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly. "What is the Dragonlord?"

"You honestly don't remember," Merlin asked, a bitter smile gracing his lips. "Balinor? Ring any bells?"

"Of course I remember him," Arthur answered. "He was the man that father sent us to find. I didn't really understand everything at the time, but my father believed that he could help us in some way. He spoke the language of Dragons or something."

"Something like that," Merlin replied. "Dragonlords share a kinship with dragons, Arthur. Whatever a Dragonlord commands a dragon must do whether they like it or not. We speak in the ancient tongue and the dragon responds. I'm the last of my kind, Arthur."

"How does one become Dragonlord?"

Arthur could see Merlin hesitating once more and knew that he had struck on something difficult for the man. He was open and forthright about everything until it became painful for him. This time, however, Arthur got the strangest feeling not to push.

Merlin was quiet for a long time and Arthur found himself nearly screaming for Merlin to do something. Didn't the idiot realize they were wasting time?

"The power is one of blood," Merlin finally said, his voice hoarse. "It's passed down from father to son. When the father dies the power is then given to the son."

"Father to son," Arthur repeated, mulling it around in his mind. He knew he was missing something, something important, but he couldn't figure it out. Merlin was looking at him with an overwhelming sense of loss and then finally he realized why. "Merlin, was Balinor your father?"

Merlin didn't say a word, but his expression said it all. Arthur never wanted to see this look on his manservant ever again. Yet, somehow he knew that this wasn't the only occasion of someone close to Merlin dying and Merlin not being to tell anyone of his pain for fear of his secret getting out.

"Merlin," Arthur cried. "How could you not tell me? You didn't have to go through that alone! I could have helped you."

"It would have led to too many questions, Arthur. It was easier to just sort of….pretend it never happened."

"Did you know? That he was your father I mean?"

"Not until just before I left. Gaius told me as were about to leave. Balinor didn't know he had a son until I told him."

"So you lost him right after you found him?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Arthur. "

Arthur decided to respect Merlin's boundaries on this particular issue and he could see his friend's gratitude.

"Help me up," Merlin said suddenly.

"What," Arthur exclaimed. "You have got to be joking! This is three times you have fallen over on me and I am not really looking for there to be a fourth."

"Arthur," Merlin said as if talking to a child. "I have to call Kilgarrah, don't I? And I am certainly not going to sit here next to my own vomit, so if you could please just help me up so I can get to work? I promise I will rest afterwards, alright?"

Arthur nodded wearily and grabbed his friend's hand. He was shocked, really, to feel how cold it was. It felt like Merlin had stuck his entire fist into an ice bucket. As the king pulled the warlock to his feet, Arthur glimpsed his throat and nearly gasped. The black lines that had been on his back near the furrows in his skin had now stretched until it wound up Merlin's throat and ended near his jaw line.

It had moved far too quickly for Arthurs liking. He didn't mention the lines to Merlin, but his sense of urgency increased if such a thing were possible.

"Hurry," Arthur whispered. "Just….hurry."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Your Prattyness. I'm going as fast as I can."

The man stood tall for a moment, his head craning to the sky. Arthur wasn't sure what he had expected, but the strange, guttural words that came pouring from Merlin's mouth in a shout that seemed loud enough to hear in Camelot was not exactly what he'd had in mind. He stared at the young man strangely as the words continued to issue from his throat until abruptly they ceased.

"All done," Arthur heard Merlin say before he swayed dangerously. Arthur barely had time to catch him before he'd gone limp. His eyes were open and he was clearly conscious but all the strength had left him. Arthur carried his servant to one of the few trees that remained standing after Merlin's magical onslaught and propped the man against it.

"Now what," Arthur asked.

"We wait," Merlin breathed.

And wait they did. It seemed like the entire day had passed even though Arthur knew it had only been a couple of hours. He had asked Merlin where the damn dragon was so many times now that the man refused to answer him anymore. It would take time, Merlin had said. The dragon could be anywhere and it may take him awhile to show up. That didn't make the waiting any easier.

Arthur had begun pacing by the third hour. Merlin was shivering again and even Arthurs winter jacket that he had given to the man wasn't doing any good. The lines had moved past his jaw and disappeared into his hairline. He had barely moved and unless Arthur spoke to him he hadn't said a word. Arthur frequently found himself saying the warlocks name to just make sure he would get a response.

He was on, perhaps, his tenth rotation of walking a few feet past Merlin and back again before he heard an irritated sigh.

"Would you stop that," Merlin said weakly. "You're stressing me out."

"Sorry," Arthur said, taking up his roost by Merlin's tree again. "I didn't know you were awake."

"I've been in and out," Merlin admitted. "But I don't like the place I go when I'm asleep or unconscious or whatever I am. Its….Arthur, I'm really scared."

"Merlin, I swear on my life that I will do everything in my power to make sure you live through this."

"It's not that," Merlin whispered. "I'm not afraid to die, Arthur. To be honest I've been preparing for that my whole life. Keeping a secret like mine is not without risk and having to watch out for you certainly didn't make my chances better. But, this is different."

"How so?"

"I don't know if whatever is happening to me will really kill me," Merlin said hesitantly as if trying to think of the best way to explain. "Its trying to take over my magic and when it does I think that whatever part of me is in there will cease to exist. My body will live on, but I'll be buried underneath it, suffocating and helpless. I don't want to be helpless, Arthur. I don't want to be trapped somewhere I can't escape from. I'll go mad if that happens."

"I won't let it," Arthur promised, horrified by his friends words. " No matter what I won't let it."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Arthur."

Arthur didn't know what to say to that and so he kept quiet. The waiting slowly stretched into the fourth hour and Arthur busied himself by trying to convince Merlin to drink some water. The young man was shaking so badly he couldn't even hold the cup without it sloshing all over him and Arthur took it gently to save his friend the discomfort of having water down his front. He took whatever thing he could do to help make his friend more comfortable, regardless of how demeaning it would seem.

It wasn't five minutes later that Merlin had thrown up again. His whole body spasmed with the force of it and he choked and coughed as the water came back up. Arthur tried to ease its passing any way he could, but there was little to be done. Merlin finally sat back with a whimper and clutched at his stomach, his fists clenching so tightly Arthur could see the tendons attempting to escape his skin.

"Merlin," Arthur said, trying to distract his friend from the pain.

"If you are about to ask me to drink more water I will curse you," came the weak reply.

Arthur laughed, but it sounded far too anxious to be his own.

"I wasn't going to ask that. I think you have had enough for now. Tell me about that night with dragon. Tell me what happened."

"Not much to tell," Merlin whispered. "You went in, got knocked unconscious, and I saved your life. That is usually how it goes, you know."

"Funny Merlin," Arthur said in mock annoyance. "But what happened between you and Kilgarrah? How did you end up being friends with a dragon?"

Merlin seemed to be trying to recall what happened that night because his brows were furrowed in confusion. "Everything is sort of hazy," he said, his words slurring slightly. "I remember you were on the ground and the knights had all been killed or knocked out. He was going to kill you, I think. And I stopped him. I could have killed him, but I didn't. He saved my life later and we sort of became friends after that."

"Why didn't you kill him, Merlin?"

"Partly because he asked," Merlin said, a slight smile adorning his hollowed face. "But also, because, well because I suppose I understood him. I understood why he was doing what he was, in a way. His kind had been wiped out, Arthur. He was the last and to know that kind of pain….its horrible. To have to watch people like you die just because of what they are or what they practice...I can't describe the feeling, Arthur. I would have wanted vengeance to, I think. If things had played out differently and I had gone through what he had I would have wanted to bring Camelot to its knees. Sorrow is funny that way. Uther would know that better than anyone, I think. It was his sorrow that turned to anger and then to hate. "

Merlin couldn't seem to keep his eyes open after his speech and his head lolled back against his shoulder. Arthur pulled his wadded up pair of travel trousers and placed it gently beneath the man's cheek to give him some minor comfort.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Arthur said, knowing that his friend couldn't hear him, but feeling the need to say it anyways.

They were well into the fifth hour by the time Arthur began to lose faith. Up until this point he had honestly believed the dragon would come and had merely been frustrated at how long it was taking. Merlin had not woken since the last conversation he had and any attempts of Arthur's to raise him from his stupor failed. The rest of his body had grown ice cold and the black lines had spread down into his arms and across the rest of his throat.

It was well into the sixth hour that Merlin's breathing turned ragged. Arthur could feel the man's heartbeat pounding erratically as he attempted to draw air into his lungs. Arthur gently lay him down on the forest floor and tilted his head back to help make it easier. He was overjoyed to hear the young mans gasps calm some, but he didn't know how long this reprieve would last. Merlin's eyelids flickered restlessly and Arthur wondered what kind of battle was occurring inside his friends mind. And more importantly who was winning.

The seventh hour passed without any change and Arthur was seriously considering hoisting Merlin over his back and walking until he'd found the Druids himself. He knew he wouldn't get far, though, and would have to devise some sort of sling.

He was well into the eighth hour and already designing the pallet in his mind when he heard a sound that had previously sent shivers down his spine. Now, however, he was filled with a joy so overpowering he almost yelled.

The slow beating of wings could be heard over the treetops and though Arthur couldn't see him yet he knew to whom they belonged.

Arthur didn't think he had ever heard a sweeter sound.


	10. A Queen and her Men

**Author's Note: **_Ok, so I realize that I told all of you that I would not be updating for a bit, but I found that it was going to be an impossible standard to hold myself to. If I were an addict I would be in serious trouble, but the only thing I have an addiction for is writing this story so no real harm done. I really haven't had any specific plan for this story and I've just sort of made it up as I write it, but I feel like it has flown pretty smoothly. So I have no clue where it's going and I am as excited for the outcome as some of you are. By the way, thank you so much for all the amazing reviews. I had a smile on my face all day at work because of all the great things you have had to say. So, here's Chapter 9 and I am sorry but Merlin and Arthur aren't in a single moment of it except for a couple of flashbacks. Please don't kill me! You'll just have to wait until Chapter 10. Review please. I love them!_

Guinevere was in a daze. Of course, this had been her perpetual state of mind from the moment Arthur had put the crown atop her head. Being Queen in theory was easy because it honestly only consisted of her and Arthur together forever, but being Queen in reality was so much more. She often times found herself faced with decisions that she had never had to make before and pressures she hadn't thought possible. She had to look a certain way, act a certain way, speak a certain way. No one ever said as much, but the expectation was there, written plain as day on their faces.

They expected her to fail, she knew. When she had mentioned this to Arthur he had merely laughed and gazed at her lovingly.

"Guinevere," he had told her in a voice meant only for her. No one could say her name like Arthur could. "The royal court wants everyone to fail. The only enjoyment they get out of life is to watch others fall. Don't worry about them. All of Camelot knows that you will be a great queen, Gwen. I know you will be a great queen."

And that had been that. Arthur wasn't perturbed one bit by the quiet, resentful stares the noble women gave her. He would only smile a dangerous grin and pull her close to him. He was the buffer between her and his rule infested world. Gwen had tried to understand the do's and dont's of court life, but found she was consistently confused because they were always changing. One day it would be perfectly acceptable to wear her hair down, but the very next it was an atrocity.

Even worse was how people that she had worked with in the castle almost her whole life suddenly treated her differently. She was a royal now, which meant that you keep your eyes averted, attend their every need, and then gossip about them later on in the kitchens. She could hear their whispers as she passed and though she said hello they never replied in kind.

S he had a servant now for goodness sake. She had told Arthur that she could do things on her own, but he had insisted and now Gwen didn't know what to do with the girl. The girl in question, Brigette, was quiet and kept to herself but if Gwen even suggested that she take the day off or that she didn't need her services, it was like she had physically abused the child. How she made it through those first few months she would never know.

Actually, if she was honest with herself, she did know. Merlin. He had been a godsend, really. Of course, she had always been a friend to the man. Even before she had even liked Arthur, let alone loved him. The man could make her laugh, usually on purpose, but sometimes not and she treasured that, now more than ever. He would oftentimes make faces at her during court sessions as she sat beside Arthur on her throne. She would have to fight to keep the laughter away and only sometimes succeeded in doing so. Gwen had learned how to cover a laugh with a cough quite well the first weeks of her reign. Arthur had to have noticed, but he was either so used to the servant's silly antics that they no longer affected him or he was made of stone. Merlin would tell her it was stone all the way around.

Gwen frowned. It was strange to not have Arthur and Merlin by her side and though she did not begrudge their hunting trip in the slightest, she felt strangely empty at their absence.

There had been plenty to do, of course. Gwen felt as if her life were a never ending ballet of appearances to make and appointments to keep. If she wasn't helping to solve a pest problem in the lower town then she was attempting to budget the crowns funds. She was constantly being forced into ridiculous lunches with noblewomen who promptly ignored her when she was present but accused her of snobbery when she wasn't.

She knew without a doubt, however, that she would do it all forever if it meant being able to sleep in Arthur's arms each night. It felt right in a way that nothing ever had and she was her best when she was with him. She felt it was the same for him, save perhaps one exception.

Her thoughts came back around to Merlin and the uneasy feeling in her gut returned. She knew that she shouldn't be worried. After all, Arthur had said the trip would probably take around seven days and it had only been three, but she still felt an uncomfortable lump in her chest when she thought of them.

"Must you go," she had pleaded with him. "I hate to think of you alone out there with Morgana possibly lurking."

"I won't be alone," he had replied pointedly, doing up his trousers. "I'll be with Merlin."

"Take me with you then," she had argued. "It isn't as if I am adverse to getting my hands dirty, like some other women I know."

"They are only jealous," Arthur had laughed. "You bagged yourself the prince and now they have to watch you flaunt it."

"I'm not flaunting anything, Arthur."

"You know that and I know that, but they don't."

"Arthur, please let me come with you. I don't want to be stuck here alone with them."

"Guinevere," he answered calmly, taking her hands in his. "I will miss you desperately, but this time you must stay home. Merlin needs this, you know. I think he's going a bit stir crazy and with all the time I have been spending with you I think he feels a little left out."

"Arthur," Guinevere argued reasonably, contempt at his meager argument rather apparent. "Merlin hates hunting and you know it. Besides, even with me around you two are rarely apart. What's this really about?"

"Fine," he had said, rolling his eyes a bit. "Perhaps it's me and not Merlin that's getting a bit stir crazy stuck inside this castle day in and day out. I need to be outdoors, Guinevere. I need adventure."

"Am I not adventurous enough for you," she had teased, pushing him away slightly.

He had grabbed her hands and pulled her tightly to him, looking at her with molten eyes. Oh, good God she loved him.

"Guinevere, my queen," he had said softly. "You are more than adventurous enough for me. Just of a different kind."

He had kissed her then and she had lost all train of thought, which, she realized now had been his purpose all along. He was too sneaky for his own good, sometimes.

When they pulled away again he had kissed the top of her head and said with a small smile, "You are still staying home" then dashed away before she had time to come up with a reasonable counter argument.

It wasn't until they had left Camelot that Guinevere felt the first quiver of foreboding in her stomach. She didn't know why, but she feared that one of them would not come back alive. And if they did come back things would never be the same. Whether that was for better or worse, she didn't know.

For the first two nights, she had shaken the thoughts away. They were entirely ridiculous and founded on nothing more than a silly girl's worries. Arthur and Merlin had gotten into more scrapes and binds than any men she had ever known and they always managed to come out relatively unharmed before. Why should now be any different? And that was assuming there was trouble to begin with, which she was sure that there wasn't.

However, the knot of fear in her stomach only continued to grow and by the third day she couldn't stand it anymore. She had to do something. Even if it meant her looking like the fool to the entire court she would rather do so then deal with the consequences of losing the two most important men in her life.

It was these events that found Guinevere searching for her husband's knights and most trusted companions. So far she had been having no luck at all. She had checked on the training fields, the knight's quarters, and in the armory but had not found them there. It wasn't until she saw one of the knight's many pages running by her at top speed.

"My lady," he cried when he saw her, skidding to a stop before bowing his head politely. "I beg your pardon, I didn't see you there."

"It's Rodrick, isn't it?"

"Yes my lady," he said smiling. "Soon to be Sir Rodrick if our king likes me well enough."

"I shall make you a deal," Guinevere whispered as if telling a secret. "Tell me where I can find Arthur's knights and I will put in a good word for you."

"Oh that's easy," the boy replied, rolling his eyes. "They all went to the tavern at Sir Gawain's suggestion and are probably knee deep in ale by now. You know, I have often wondered if Sir Gawain is really human at all, the way he knocks back drinks. But don't tell him I said that!"

Damn, Guinevere said in her head, realizing that it would be entirely improper for the young knight to be to hear his queen curse. Although, now that she thought about it would certainly give him something to remember her by. She smiled at this then assured him his secret was safe with her before thanking the boy and sending him dashing on his way once more.

"Off to the tavern then," she muttered beneath her breath. "Time to see what mayhem they have caused this time."

She loved the knights, she really did. Arthur's decision to make common men into the realms finest and fiercest protectors had been one of his more brilliant strokes of genius. Common men had more to fight for, more to die for. It was their families and homes that stood first in line for destruction for any invading threat and it would be these men that would stand as its staunchest defense.

Then there was Leon. He was noble birth, of course, but one would imagine that he had grown up working for everything he owned. He was quiet, compassionate, a calming force to the other knight's raging sea. And he had been Arthur's greatest friend, besides Merlin, of course, for as long as Gwen could remember.

Gwen had never really understood Gawain. The man had been something of a rambler before his quick induction into knighthood and it was clear by his actions that he had not changed much. Why he stayed around was beyond her, although she suspected this had something to do with Merlin. Things usually did, after all.

She had come to the conclusion long ago that Merlin was something of an anomaly among men. He inspired others to follow him even though he would never realize that he was doing it. Lancelot, Gawain, herself and most importantly Arthur had all been shaped by his presence in some way or another. If Merlin had never come to Camelot Gwen seriously doubted whether she would have ever fallen in love with Arthur, let alone be Arthur's object of affection.

She also believed that Merlin had a hand in a lot more than he let on. He was consistently gone when things began to get rough, but whatever threat they were facing would disappear and it wouldn't be long before he was back among them again. And then there had been that time with Morgana. Morgana had been about to kill her, there was no doubt about that. Gwen had no defense against the magic she would use, but she hadn't had to. Right before the words of power slipped from Morgana's lips the witch had been blasted backwards by some invisible force. Gwen had begun saying prayers of thanks to whatever gods would listen when Merlin had come barreling around the corner, mere seconds after Morgana had been taken care of. She had asked the young man what happened and he had told her that he didn't know. She hadn't believed him then and she didn't believe him now. She didn't push it at the time and hadn't had a chance to be alone with him long enough to pry. One day soon, however, she and Merlin were going to have a chat.

If he was alive, of course. Her sense of urgency renewed, she all but flew down the streets to the dingy hall Camelot called a tavern. If anyone had said that a queen couldn't run they would have been proven wrong that day. She burst through the door, panting as she looked around for her husband's knights. She was receiving strange looks from sober and drunk townsfolk alike and she realized she must look like quite a sight.

"Leon," she gasped, trying to catch her breath. "I need Sir Leon. Has anyone seen him?"

At that moment a fairly tall blond headed man pushed his way through the gathering crowd with a look of alarm on his face. Three other knights closest to him seemed to be having a bit of trouble at getting through the ranks of lower towners, but when Percival joined them the crowd parted instantly. Percival was one of the kindest men she knew, but he could certainly throw his weight around.

"Queen Guinevere," Leon whispered softly, the first to speak as usual. "Is everything alright? You look distressed."

"I am distressed," she said grimly. "And I need your help."

"Anything my lady," Percival boomed. "Ask and it shall be done."

"Its Arthur," she replied. "I think he's in trouble."

If only it had been that simple. Then again, when were things ever simple in Camelot.?


	11. A Balancing Act to Stun the Ages

**Author's Note: **_Welcome back everyone. I have thought a lot about where I want my story to go and I've decided that it will be 26 chapters in total. This, of course, is subject to change depending on how the story goes. I know it's a bit long, but if everything works the way I want it should go pretty smoothly. I am going to try to get at least one chapter posted every night. Tell me what you guys think. Now, on this chapter…it took me forever to figure out how I wanted it to start! I had all the middle bits and the end taken care of, but the beginning was a beast! Luckily my brain finally slapped me in the face and Chapter 10 was born. Hope you enjoy. As usual please review so I know how I am doing. _

There were very few moments in Arthur's life in which he had found himself speechless. Even fewer were the times he had found himself in a perpetual state of awe and shock. The only time that came close to comparing occurred when he was a mere boy. Uther had taken him to watch his first tourney. Arthur had been fascinated by the bright colors of the knight's crest, the way the sun glinted off their armor, and the regal way they carried themselves even when beaten. He clapped and cheered as the knights whirled swords, strung bows, and hurled lances. Yet the boy knew, as few children would, that Uther had not brought him here for simple entertainment. No, Uther had brought his son to watch the knights for the same reason a den mother wrestles with her wolf cubs. He brought him here to learn, to train, so that one day, when he was big and strong, he could be a fearless warrior for his father's realm.

And fearless warrior he was. Arthur had made a promise to himself that day that he would never let his father down, no matter how hard he had to push himself. He had believed everything his father had told him without a second thought. A parent is God in they eyes of a child, or so they say. Arthur had never questioned, never refused an order even when it compromised his own beliefs.

Then Merlin had arrived and everything changed. Suddenly, Arthur found a hidden strength he'd never known he had. He started to make his own decisions and found that, if he remained steadfast in them, his father respected him for it, even if he didn't agree.

The one thing Arthur and his father had never disagreed on, however, was magic and its place in the kingdom. It had been the one real uniting bond in their lives and now it was gone. He was about to interact with a dragon and for all the speeches he'd given he found himself without words. Arthur didn't like it at all.

He had to shield himself with his arms as Kilgarrah beat his wings steadily before he touched down. The ground shook and Arthur suddenly realized just how small he was in comparison.

The dragon looked at him for a long time and if he was surprised to see him, it didn't show it. Silence stretched and Arthur realized, with some alarm, that with Merlin unconscious he had no way to communicate with him. He was no Dragonlord, after all.

Merlin groaned from behind Arthur, his body thrashing slightly as if he were battling some inner force. Both Arthur and Kilgarrah looked sharply at the young man and both faces creased with concern though neither saw the face of the other.

"The young warlock gets in more trouble on your behalf than you realize, King of Camelot," Kilgarrah said quietly, nearly making Arthur jump out of his skin.

"You speak," he asked stupidly. "Like us, I mean?"

"It is a habit I indulge in occasionally," came the gravely reply.

"I never heard you speak before," Arthur said suspiciously. "When you were in Camelot last. You never spoke."

"I was busy," Kilgarrah said simply.

Rage filled Arthur's heart, a rage so hot that, if he'd wanted to, he could have put any fire Kilgarrah could muster to shame. How could this creature stand and talk so callously of the destruction he had caused? Of the deaths he had been responsible for?

"Those were my people you were busy with," Arthur snarled, his bow raising unbidden in his hands. "You slaughtered them in cold blood."

"No colder than your father's blood when he slaughtered every last one of my kin," Kilgarrah said without a hint of remorse.

"It doesn't make it right," Arthur growled.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Kilgarrah replied. "It makes no difference now. The past is the past. I took my vengeance. It is done."

"We'll see," Arthur said, not willing to give up entirely. However he felt about the dragon he was Merlin's only chance so Arthur had to play nice. But, Arthur would never forget the terror Kilgarrah had unleashed upon his people. He could unite for the time being for a common cause, but he would never forgive.

"Yes," the dragon said softly, looking at him with an unreadable expression. "I believe we shall."

"What took you so long," Arthur snapped. "Merlin called you hours ago."

"I came when I could," the dragon answered. "I do not tend too spend much time in your lands, young king. I am far too easily noticeable and if word reached you that a dragon was alive it might lead to uncomfortable questions for the warlock charged with your care. Although, that seems to matter little now."

"He's dying," Arthur said, his voice desperate. "I don't really understand what is happening, but I know that for sure."

"You are correct," Kilgarrah replied calmly. "If the young warlock is left as he is he will die shortly, but he will not stay dead."

"Excuse me," Arthur said hoarsely. "What does that mean? He won't stay dead? Merlin said something similar, but I don't understand what that means."

"Power whether good or bad can corrupt even the strongest of people, young Pendragon. Merlin is no exception to that rule. He is fighting, but even now it is overtaking him. He cannot hope to prevail for long beneath the influence of the Old Religion."

"But Merlin said he was a part of the Old Religion! How can something he be a part of overtake him?"

"Emrys is but an aspect of the Old Religion. He may be a powerful warlock, but there are entities out there far older and far stronger than he could possibly hope to be."

"How can the Old Religion be so bad when Merlin is so good? It makes no sense."

"Arthur, the Old Religion is balance itself. Dark and light. Good and bad. Life and death. It all must be balanced or the world is pulled out of alignment. The Dorocha you faced are but an example of what happens if a rift occurs. Merlin is but part of that balance."

"What happens if he doesn't get help in time," Arthur whispered, not really wishing to hear the answer but asking anyway.

"Eventually his body will succumb to the darkness inside him. He will no longer be Emrys, but something much older and much darker. What is good within him will turn cruel and the light that once shone will cease to exist."

"What does that even mean," Arthur cried in frustration.

"It means, King of Camelot, that Merlin will die and we will be left with a force of evil so powerful that nothing you or anyone else could do would stop it."

"I won't let that happen," Arthur promised. "I refuse to allow that. Not Merlin."

"I hope you are right, young king. For if you are not Merlin will not be the only one to suffer. I told you that the Old Religion is about balance. If Merlin succumbs to the darkness that balance will cease and the world as you know it will come to an end. Camelot will fall and the rest of civilization will crumble soon after."

"Then we need to make sure he stays Merlin. How long do we have?"

"That depends entirely on the young warlock. As long as he fights there is hope, but all men, no matter how great they are, grow weak and eventually fail. If he lasts as long as I think he will we have only a few days, perhaps less."

"Merlin said something about the Druids," Arthur said, deciding not to deal with the idea of an evil Merlin or the end of the world for the moment. One thing at a time.

"They would be his only hope," Kilgarrah agreed. "The cures from the Old Religion have been passed down among their people for generations. Though I know of the cure it is beyond my skill to perform. But, be aware, King Arthur. The road will not be easy and it is certainly fraught with threats of a nature you can barely comprehend. Merlin's suffering will be great and there is a chance that he will not be as he was."

"I can handle that," Arthur responded immediately. "Whatever he is, whatever happens I can handle it. I need to handle it. He's my friend."

"Perhaps you are closer to your destiny than I imagined," Kilgarrah said softly. "I shall take you both there, King of Camelot. But first, a promise is needed."

Arthur was immediately cautious. Somehow, making a promise to a dragon seemed like a really bad idea, especially if you were honor bound to keep it.

"Go on," he whispered wearily. "Although, if Merlin was really your friend you would help him without conditions."

Kilgarrah stared at him for a long minute as if assessing him for some sign of weakness. Arthur had never felt more uncomfortable in his life.

"It is because of Merlin that I ask," Kilgarrah finally said, his voice soft. For a dragon, anyways. "He has a goodness the likes of which I have never seen. For that goodness to be taken from him would be a horrible end for him. He would hate himself forever if he were responsible, however inadvertently it was, for the destruction of that which he fought so hard for."

"What are you trying to say," Arthur said, alarms ringing in his head.

"Before I help you, young Pendragon, you must promise me that, if it comes down to it, you will take care of the problem before it grows."

"I don't understand," Arthur spat, unsure now if he really wanted to.

"You need to promise me, Arthur, that if we cannot save him you will end his life before the balance is destroyed."

Arthur felt sick. "You want me to promise to kill Merlin?"

"That is what I ask," Kilgarrah sighed. "That is the price for my assistance."

"How can you call yourself his friend," Arthur screamed. "How can you ask that?"

The dragon showed no emotion. "I am bound to a far higher calling than you realize, young king. I do not wish for Merlin's death and I will do all I can to prevent it, but a choice must be made. A single life…or a million?"

Arthur didn't know what to do. He understood, as a king, that Kilgarrah was right. If it was a choice between all of his people and Merlin then the answer would be clear. However, as a friend, he was loathe to do anything so horrible as kill the young man.

"Think King Arthur," the dragon said softly, as if sensing his doubts. "If Merlin had a choice, what would he choose?"

Arthur knew what Merlin would choose and would do so without a second thought. If it came down to a choice between himself and others, Merlin always chose them above himself. It was just who Merlin was. The decision was clear, even though he wished more than anything it could be different. He would just have to make sure it never got to that point.

"Alright," Arthur said softly, glancing at his servant with tears in his eyes. "I promise."


	12. Knight to D4

**Author's Note: **_I am on a roll tonight, guys! I am hoping to upload three chapters today. The first was chapter 10 followed closely by chapters 11 and 12. I just got this new hand brace that supports my wrist so that the nerves don't press against the keyboard and voila…instant numbness relief. It still hurts a little, but not as bad as it could. Anyways, I beg for your reviews to see if you guys like the way the story is going. The only way for an author to get better is to hear what her audience has to say. So please….say it….whatever it is. Now onward to Chapter 11._

"Let me see if I understand," Leon said, attempting to keep his voice gentle while still conveying the concern he felt about his queen's request. "You want us to go trekking after Arthur on a hunch?"

"I know how it sounds," Guinevere whispered, biting her lip nervously. "But you know I wouldn't come to you unless I absolutely had to."

"Gwen," Elyan said. "I know you mean well, but is it possible that….well…"

Elyan paused trying to think of the best way to tell Gwen his thoughts. He was her brother, after all. He had to have her back. Luckily, Gawain had no such restrictions.

"Is it possible that you only think something is wrong because you miss him?"

Leon sighed inwardly. Gawain was his brother, certainly, and there was no doubt that the man fought valiantly. But he had absolutely no tact. Percival and Elyan shot the rambling knight a reproachful glare, but Gawain only shrugged.

"We were all thinking it," he said mildly. "I was just the one who chose to say something."

"I am not one of those women who can't handle herself without her husband by her side," Gwen said fiercely, attempting to hide the hurt she felt at their lack of faith. If it had been Arthur before them, asking for their help, they wouldn't have hesitated.

"No on is saying that you are, Gwen," Elyan said anxiously. "All we are saying is that it's natural to worry. Perhaps its just a bad case of nerves."

"I expected this from the rest of them," Guinevere whispered icily. "But not from you. You're my brother, Elyan. When have I ever done something like this? When have ever made a fuss about things I wasn't sure about?"

"Never," Elyan answered, doubt creeping into his tone. "You've always been incredibly rational about everything. "

"I know something is wrong," Gwen repeated as she had dozens of times that night. "I don't know what, but I know there is something going on and it has to do with Merlin."

At the mention of the manservants name Gawain looked at her seriously for the first time.

"Merlin," Gawain asked, tossing his hair to keep it from his eyes. "What's wrong with Merlin?"

Guinevere had been silly not to mention the manservant before, Leon thought. It was true that they had all sworn allegiance to Arthur. He was the king, after all. Leon knew, however, that there had been a second unspoken oath of allegiance made that night at the Round Table. Most of the knights looked at Merlin and Arthur as a package deal. If you made a promise to one of them you made the same promise to the other as well. If you lied to one then you also lied to the other. So, it went without saying, that to make an oath of allegiance to one meant making it to their other half. Leon often found himself comparing the two men to two halves of the same coin, though he rarely knew who was heads and who tails. Perhaps they switched.

Gawain had a particular bond with Merlin, Leon knew. He was certain that Gawain gave up his traveling lifestyle, not for Arthur, but the for clumsy, well-intentioned manservant that served as the kings best friend. So anything to do with Merlin and danger being intertwined had Gawain's full attention instantly.

Besides, it was much easier for the knights to think of Merlin in danger than it was for them to think of Arthur in the same predicament. The king was a trained warrior and not only that, he was the best swordsman Leon had ever seen. He could handle himself in almost any given situation, but Merlin was an entirely different story. The boy could barely hold a sword much less connect with anything. He was almost useless in battle and was usually only there for moral support, which he exceeded at without an ounce of effort.

"Well," Guinevere replied, biting her lip again. "I don't know for sure if its Merlin, but I do know Arthur. If Merlin is hurt in any way, Arthur won't leave him. He would rather die than do that."

"Merlin would do the same for the princess," Gawain snapped as if needing to defend his friend.

"Gawain," Leon reprimanded. "I don't believe Guinevere is saying anything about Merlin's willingness to help Arthur. We have all seen the lengths that the boy has gone through to keep him safe. I believe what she was trying to say is that if one of them is hurt, then it is very possible the other is in danger as well."

"Please," Guinevere continued. "I know I am just your queen and a common one at that, but please just help me make sure. Call me silly all you like if I am wrong, but what if I am right?"

"Guinevere," Leon said quietly. "You are not a common queen, my lady. You are the bravest, kindest, and most humble queen I have ever met. I am honored to serve you and if you believe that Merlin and Arthur may be in danger then I believe you. You have my blade and my eyes whenever or however you have need of them."

Guinevere shot him a look of gratitude so sincere Leon couldn't help but smile. Once he had agreed the others were quick to follow and so when dawn's first light hit the horizon, the knights of Camelot and their queen found themselves riding out from the castle gates.

"I'm hungry," complained Gawain, wiping sweat from his brow.

"When are you not," Percival boomed. "The kitchens are having to work overtime just to feed your giant stomach."

"Look whose talking big man," Gawain snorted before dancing his horse out of the way as Percival took a playful swing at him.

They had been riding now for a few hours and Leon couldn't help but notice that as his companions began to joke and laugh, Guinevere became more concerned. She was dressed in her travel gear; dark black trousers with a white tunic and a fur shoulder scarf that reached her middle. She looked like the Guinevere of old, but Leon found that there really wasn't a difference between the two women.

"My lady," Leon whispered as he watched Gawain gallop ahead, hollering some nonsense about a tavern wench he'd once met. "My lady, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," his queen said, though he didn't believer her for a second.

"I am more than a knight, you know," he mumbled and Guinevere looked at him sharply. "I am your friend as well. I know things have been difficult with the ladies in the court, but you are a great queen, Guinevere. They know this and it scares them. You dared question their place in life, my lady. It is not something they are used to. People believe in you. We believe in you."

"Leon I have always counted you as friend," Guinevere said smiling. "But I am not sure I have made the right decision. The feeling is still there, but we have found nothing to make us believe that anything is wrong."

Leon was about to answer her and even go so far as to suggest they turn back when Gawain came racing back to them, his face white and his eyes serious. Leon had never seen the drunkard look like this and fear immediately began pounding through his brain.

"There is something you need to see," the man whispered. "I have never seen anything like it before in my life."

Leon and his queen took off after Gawain, the rest of the knights close behind them. Gawain was leading them to what looked like some kind of clearing, but as he got closer Leon could see whole trees uprooted and what looked like a large patch of burned foliage up ahead. He couldn't see anymore however because the sun was glaring hatefully over the tops of the remaining trees. He put a hand over his eyes and nearly ran into the back of Gawain. He heard Guinevere gasp from somewhere to his right, but it wasn't until the sun disappeared behind a rolling cloud that he realized why.

Leon had seen many things in his day. Trolls, dragons, warrior skeletons, all in the name of Camelot. He saw himself as a seasoned knight who'd seen more action than many of the veterans he had so much respect for. What he saw in that clearing, however, made his blood run cold.

The surrounding landscape seemed to be entirely decimated for at least three miles in any direction and the smell of smoke still hung heavily in the air. Trees as big around as four men had been tossed around the clearing as if they were made of parchment. Black spots covered the ground and Leon wondered what on earth had made them. Every blade of grass or flower that had been within the destroyed area was brown and withered.

"What could have done this," Elyan whispered, looking cautiously about him.

"It seems," Leon told Guinevere. "That you were right."

"I had honestly hoped I wasn't," she replied calmly. Her eyes, however, told of worries so deep her heart was alight with it.

"Fan out," Leon ordered. "Remain on your guard but search for anything that might give us clues to what occurred here."

The men branched out in a four point formation working from center on. It was a search technique Arthur had taught them. The idea was that by starting from the middle with each man working forward in his direction they would greatly reduce the risk of being flanked. It had worked for them so far and none of them were willing to take the chance of testing it.

It wasn't long into the search that Leon head Elyan shouting.

"Here," he cried. "Over here. I found something."

Leon and the rest of the men quickly found their way to where the youngest knight was waiting for them. Leon felt his heart drop when he saw Elyan grimly attempting to comfort a panicked Guinevere. He was holding something in his hands that had dark crimson splotches of what Leon knew to be blood all over it. Someone had been bleeding badly; very badly indeed.

"It's Merlin's neckerchief," the young man explained as they drew closer.

Gawain swore and Leon looked at him sharply. He took the stained fabric from Elyans fingers and grimaced as the sharp, iron scent of blood reached him.

"It was a bad injury," he said as calm as ever. "Whether it was Arthur's or Merlin's I don't know. They can't have gone far like this though. Split into groups and search the surrounding areas for any sign of them. Guinevere can come with me."

Guinevere had no trouble keeping up with Leon as he sped through the forest looking for his king and friend. She was worried, he knew, but like she had so many times before the young queen put her feelings aside to deal with the problem at hand.

"Look," Leon said suddenly, pointing to a series of red smears on surrounding rocks and shrubbery. "This might lead us to them."

They had followed the blood trail for perhaps thirty minutes before they came upon another clearing. This one, however was green and lush except for two large areas on the lands far side. From where Leon was standing they looked like footprints, but he didn't know of anything that could have feet that large.

"Oh no," he heard Guinevere cry and turned to watch as she ran to a nearby tree, where someone wounded had clearly been sitting. There was a large patch of blood on the trunk itself and splotches in the surrounding grass. Arthur's winter jacket was crumpled on the ground in a heap next to a shrewdly built fire pit.

"They have been here recently," Leon said, touching the ashes within the pit and finding them vaguely warm. "I'd say between two to three hours maybe."

"What if Arthur is hurt," Guinevere whispered, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "What if he's dead?"

Leon spotted another piece of fabric on the stick-covered ground and he looked at it for a long time before saying a word.

"Arthur is fine, my lady."

Guinevere looked up expectantly. "Do you see him? How do you know?"

She only then looked over at him and her smile froze at the expression on his face. He held out his find to her and she gasped as if she'd been punched in the stomach. He knew the feeling.

The piece of fabric he had discovered was Merlin's blue shirt, one of his favorites. The clothing item alone wouldn't have been horribly concerning if it hadn't been for the blood soaked patches all over it and the four horribly large tear marks on its back.

"It looks like claw marks," Leon remarked. "But I don't know what kind of creature has talons like these."

"Leon," cried Gwen. "Where are they? With a wound like that they should be here. So why aren't they?"

"I don't know, my lady," Leon said grimly. "But I promise we'll find them and bring them home. On my honor as a knight we'll find them."

Leon didn't mention that the likelihood of finding both men alive was wishful thinking at best. No, the wise knight didn't mention this little fact to his queen, but he knew he didn't have to.

The blood and tears in Merlin's shirt spoke the truth better then he ever could.


	13. The Sky King and Other Dark Tales

Arthur had never been flying before, but found that he instantly disliked it. It was cold and his legs ached horribly from clenching around Kilgarrah's scales so tightly. Perhaps a braver man would have found the ride exhilarating with the land spread out before them. But it took everything Arthur had not to puke at the slightest change in motion, which occurred with every beat of the dragon's powerful wings.

At least he wasn't with Merlin, clutched tightly in the dragons claws, arms and legs dangling precariously in midair. It was the little things Arthur was thankful for. He was convinced, however, that Kilgarrah was going to accidentally drop his friend so he was constantly leaning over a bit to see that Merlin remained in the air with him. He could only see the tips of the manservants limp hand, but that was enough to reassure him for the next five minutes.

When the dragon had first suggested he ride on his back the king had thought he was joking. Kilgarrah assured him, quite forcefully, that he was not. If Merlin made it through this Arthur was going to give the man holy hell for what he had been subjected to.

"Merlin," he found himself whispering as he shivered with cold. "You had better live through this because if you don't I will make you regret it."

Arthur didn't need to be told how ridiculous his statement was. If Merlin was dead then he wouldn't be doing much of anything, least of all making him regret his actions.

They flew until the sun was down beyond the peaks to the north and Arthur's fingers were icy and numb. He didn't even realize they were descending until he noticed the tops of the trees speeding toward him at an alarming rate.

"What are you doing," he shouted. "Slow down!"

He felt an unmistakable rumble from the dragon beneath him and got the distinct impression that he was being laughed at. He dug his knees harder into the dragon's scales although it probably hurt him more than it did Kilgarrah. His stomach came into brief contact with his throat as they hurtled to a small patch of meadow far below them. Arthur found himself screaming as they descended, although he would deny this to his dying day.

Finally they landed and though Arthur was nearly jarred from his precarious perch upon the dragon's back he was rather impressed with how gracefully it had been done. He slid from Kilgarrah's back and groaned when his aching muscles protested their sudden use.

"Why did we stop," he asked. "Is Merlin alright?"

"He's waking," Kilgarrah said, unfurling his claws and gently setting the warlock upon the ground.

"Is that a good or bad thing," Arthur questioned worriedly.

"Depends on who is asking," the dragon replied cryptically.

"I am," he snapped, growing rather annoyed at Kilgarrah's riddle like answers.

"Then it is good," the dragon replied. "Merlin waking means he's still fighting although it will not be pleasant for him. The two forces battling inside him are at an impasse. You could say they have called a truce for the immediate future, but are building their strength for the next assault. When this occurs Merlin will either be waking up healed or he won't be waking up at all. "

"What do I do," Arthur asked, eyeing his slightly stirring servant. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Do what you have always done," the dragon replied, creating a warm nook for the sick man between his tail and side. "Be his friend."

Arthur nodded and jumped over Kilgarrah's massive tail to sit beside his friend. He was surprised at how shockingly warm it was in the shelter of the mighty dragon above him and he felt his shivers dissipate as the heat set in. He reached over with slightly numb fingers and peeled back the padding over Merlin's wounds. They had finally stopped bleeding and had even begun to scab over, but bruising had begun to show in a bright kaleidoscope of purples, blues, blacks, and greens. Even more concerning was how quickly the black lines had spread. They reached all the way up into his arms and down into a large part of his chest.

"Arthur," Merlin suddenly gasped, his breathing harsh in his throat. "Arthur, where are you?"

"I'm here," Arthur told the panicked young man. "I'm sitting right beside you."

"I had the strangest dream," the man said dully once he knew his king hadn't left him. "You were flying on a dragon."

"I was flying on a dragon, Merlin."

"No, not Kilgarrah. This was different."

The man sounded afraid and Arthur wondered if his friend was entirely lucid. Merlin couldn't focus on him very well and his words were slurred.

"You were on a black dragon," Merlin continued, shuddering. "You were angry at me. I didn't know what you wanted, Arthur. You wouldn't tell me what you wanted. Why did you hurt me like that?"

Arthur froze at his friend's words. He hadn't done anything, at least nothing that he could remember. He wracked his brain desperately trying to find how he might have hurt him.

"I don't understand," Merlin went on. "I did everything you asked, didn't I? I was your friend, Arthur. I…I cared for you. You said I could trust…..you said I could…I could….."

He broke off gasping, his hands clutching his throat, fingers scrabbling as if he were trying to pull something off of him. He was mumbling something incoherently while he coughed and gagged. Arthur tried to grab his hands away lest he hurt himself but stopped, horrified as he made sense of the word's pouring from his mouth.

"Arthur," he choked out. "Stop! Please…..stop! You're hurting me!"

"Kilgarrah," Arthur cried desperately. "I'm not doing anything! He thinks I am trying to kill him. You have to help him."

The dragon looked down at the young warlock with sorrow in his eyes.

"I am afraid there is little I can do," Kilgarrah replied. "I may be able to relieve his suffering and bring him back to the present, but it will not last long and it will diminish the pain only a little."

"Anything is better than this," Arthur whispered, watching as his manservant twitched and shuttered with whatever tortures imaginary Arthur was inflicting upon him.

"Stand away," Kilgarrah ordered. "Magic such as this is not for mortal men like you."

Arthur was reluctant to leave his friend, but did as he was ordered. He stood, waiting for the dragon to say some kind of magic spell, but none ever came. Instead, Arthur watched as Kilgarrah took a giant breath. Realizing the dragon's intent, Arthur came rushing forward only to be knocked aside and pinned by the dragon's mighty claws. He was not hurt, but he was stuck so tightly that no amount of wriggling around would free him.

"Be still, King Arthur," Kilgarrah commanded. "The boy is in no danger from me."

"Like hell he isn't," Arthur yelled, struggling as he watched the dragon breathe in once more. "Stay away from him or I swear I will cut you to pieces."

His promises of a brutal, bloody death did nothing to dissuade the dragon from his previous plan of action. Arthur found himself screaming profanities as the dragon blew out a breath of blazing blue fire. It surrounded the young warlock and Arthur had to close his eyes against the sight he knew would be waiting for him. He couldn't bear to see Merlin's flesh burn away or hear his dying screams. But no screams came. Arthur opened his eyes and the fire abruptly vanished as Kilgarrah shut his mouth once more. Merlin lay quietly in the same place he had been before and he looked to be entirely unharmed besides the wounds he had already suffered.

"What was that," Arthur asked curiously as the dragon finally let him up. "What did you do to him?"

"A dragon can breathe more than fire, young Pendragon. I did what I told you I would. I brought him back from the Land of Shadow for a short time. Spend what little time you have with him, King Arthur. It may be the last you ever speak with him."

Arthur nodded and moved cautiously over to where his manservant lay. His eyes were open, but he didn't seem to really be looking at anything in particular. He looked dazed, as if he were trying to recall his exact reason for being here.

"Merlin," Arthur called softly. "Merlin, can you hear me?"

The man's entire body jerked when he spoke and it took ages for the young warlock to finally look at him.

"Arthur," he said slowly as if to confirm his king's identity.

Arthur nodded and went to sit beside his friend. Merlin leaned against him wearily, resting his head back against the warmth of Kilgarrah's scales.

"Feels good," he whispered, swallowing hard. "I'm freezing, but here it's not so bad." He looked up at Kilgarrah and smiled weakly. "Hello."

The dragon looked down at him with great affection.

"Merlin," he said kindly. "It is good to see you, but I wish it had been in better circumstances."

"You'll get no argument from me, old friend."

"No, young warlock. I did not think I would."

"I feel better," Merlin whispered. "Not great, but better. Was it something you did?"

"Yes, my friend. Alas it will not last long. The fight for your life and soul is not over yet. I think, now more than ever, you understand the stakes of this game, do you not?"

"I understand," Merlin whispered, his voice harsh with terror. "I was trapped with it, Kilgarrah. It wanted to hurt and to kill everything in its way, starting with me. I don't know if I am strong enough."

"If anyone can be a victor here, Merlin, it is you. Remember that when things get hardest."

The dragon looked away then and Merlin apparently understood this meant the conversation was over, for he turned back to Arthur and attempted to grin. He didn't manage it well, but Arthur appreciated the effort all the same.

"Did you fly," Merlin asked, closing his eyes and resting his head on Kilgarrah's scales once more.

"Yes," Arthur replied stiffly.

Merlin grinned for real this time, but his eyes remained hollow. Arthur didn't like the look of his perpetually cheerful manservant one bit, but he didn't allow it to show in his face.

"I would have liked to see that," Merlin laughed softly, turning his head to face the stars again. "Perhaps another time."

"There will not be another time, Merlin. I will never be flying again, ever."

"Never say never, sire. It only leads to trouble, you know."

"I figure fate owes me one."

"How so?"

"Well, it stuck me with you. I should probably get at least two favors for that little stunt."

"You'd be lost without me," Merlin teased. "Wouldn't know how to put on shirt if it weren't for me."

"I would to know how to put on a shirt, you idiot. But you are right about one thing."

"What's that?"

"I'd be lost without you," Arthur whispered.

Merlin looked at him then and studied his expression in the growing darkness. He seemed both sad and relieved to hear his friend's admission. He knew that Arthur had never been comfortable with premeditated signs of affection and words of friendship were difficult for him. When he decided to give them, Arthur's words meant more than the average person's because they were so rare. So, naturally, Merlin had to tease him mercilessly about it.

"What is it with you and admitting you need me whenever I am dying," Merlin laughed softly, coughing a little as the air caught in his chest. "Want to know how you could really prove it to me?"

"How," Arthur asked, amused. He knew that his words had been received and taken to heart, just as he knew that his friend was saving him from being embarrassed at his unlikely show of companionship.

"You could give a speech, sire. You could read it to the entire court from beginning to end. I would even write it for because I know how awful you are at thinking up speeches. 'A Hundred and One Reasons Why Merlin is the Best.'"

"In your dreams," Arthur laughed. "More like 101 Ways to Kill Your Servant."

Arthur didn't know why he said that and he could have kicked himself the moment the words were out. He felt Merlin tense beside him and had the sudden flash of Merlin with his hands around his throat screaming for Arthur to stop.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking and it just slipped out-"

"Its alright," Merlin sighed. "I know you didn't mean it. Besides, you may get to make that speech sooner than you think."

"Don't say that," Arthur said sharply, looking over at his friend. "Why would you say something like that, Merlin?"

"Because its true," Merlin said in such a calm tone one would think they were talking about impending weather. "I'm dying, Arthur. If you haven't realized that by now then your more blind then I originally thought."

"We're going to save you," Arthur replied heatedly. "Kilgarrah says that the Druids have a cure. Don't you dare give up hope on me, Merlin. Not after I flew for you."

Merlin smiled, but he didn't reassure Arthur in any way. This scared Arthur more than anything. His servant had always been the optimistic one while he had remained the realist. For this to change now, when Arthur was counting on Merlin to be Merlin more than ever, was almost overwhelming to him.

They were silent for a long time and Arthur thought that the warlock had drifted to sleep. After a moment though he shivered and looked at Arthur with an unreadable expression on his face.

"It will be you," he said cryptically.

"What did you say?"

"It will be you. It will be you that kills me, I think. The you in my head not the real you, of course. But, when I'm stuck there it feels like the real you. It speaks like you and walks like you, but its crueler then you could ever be, but it doesn't really matter because when I'm in my head its all real life. You hurt me, you know. You sliced and sliced and sliced and tried to get me to tell you all of my secrets, but I wouldn't. The fake you not the real you. I'm worried that the lines between the two will get blurred. What if I mistake the fake you for the real you or the real you for the fake you? I could kill the wrong version of you by mistake and then where would I be?"

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, concern building inside him. "What are you talking about?"

"The fake you," Merlin snapped, desperate to explain. "In my head. It's the poison I think….taking on the persona's of people I love the most. It does it to weaken me and to make it hurt worse. Gaius does it to and so does Guinevere, but usually its you. And I think when the time comes to kill me, he'll make me think that its you who holds the knife."

"You know I wouldn't do that," Arthur said, heartbroken at his friends words.

"I know," Merlin said, turning away from him. "But knowing and believing are two different things, sire."


	14. Lassoing a King is Such Great Fun

Arthur was relieved to find Merlin still conscious the next morning. It seemed his inevitable fall back into his own mind had not occurred, but Arthur reminded himself not to get too hopeful. Kilgarrah had said that it wouldn't last forever. The young man turned to face him and Arthur flinched.

The night had hidden Merlin's appearance from the king, but the sun cruelly shone on every detail. His eyes were sunk in his face, deep, dark circles framing his usually bright eyes. They were glazed over with pain and exhaustion. Somehow, in the short period of time that he'd been ill, Merlin had lost weight. Arthur could see his ribs beneath the red shirt Arthur had given him after blood had completely ruined his blue one. He was pale, paler than Arthur had ever seen him. His lips and fingertips were tinged with blue and Arthur replayed the scene with the Dorocha over in his mind. He had survived that, he can survive this.

"Is it that bad," Merlin asked tiredly.

"No," Arthur answered. He must have sounded pretty unconvincing because Merlin chuckled weakly and shook his head.

"And you called me a bad liar," Merlin snorted. "You come up with the most ridiculous stories."

"I do not," Arthur snapped playfully, glad that none of despair and horror he'd heard last night was evident. "Besides, half the time I am covering up for you."

"I do have a knack for trouble," Merlin said, laying his head back against Kilgarrah. "Luckily I have my very own clotpole to bail me out."

"I will bail you out, Merlin," Arthur said, knowing he'd ruined the mood. "We'll think of something."

Merlin neither agreed nor disagreed and the two men passed into silence. Arthur dug around in his pack until he found the rather stale loaf of bread Guinevere had packed him. It was slightly squashed, but perfectly edible.

"Here," he said, tearing off a chunk and handing it to Merlin. "You should eat something."

Merlin eyed the measly breakfast with distaste and turned his head away, shoving it back into Arthur's hands.

"I can't," he groaned. "Just the sight of it makes me sick."

"Merlin, you need to eat something."

"I said I can't, Arthur. Please don't push it."

"I'm serious, Merlin. Just try."

"I said no," Merlin yelled, with more venom in his voice then Arthur had ever heard before. Unbearable heat passed through his fingertips and he dropped the bread with a yelp of pain.

The king jerked back, stunned. Merlin was looking at him with the strangest expression on his face. If Arthur hadn't known better, he would have said it was hatred. But, Merlin didn't hate him. Right?

Suddenly, the light seemed to come back to his eyes and his face softened. He was looking at Arthur as if dazed and glanced from the bread to Arthur's swollen, red fingertips. Horror reached his eyes.

"Did I do that," Merlin gasped, his words quiet.

"What do you mean did you do that," Arthur snarled. "Of course you did! You were right there!"

"I didn't know I was doing it," Merlin stammered. "I swear. I just felt so angry and then…well then I sort of went somewhere else."

"Somewhere else?"

"It was nothing, Arthur."

"Merlin, would you stop saying that things are nothing? Honestly, if it's important enough for me to ask about then it's not nothing."

"No sire," Merlin said, slightly irritated. "I mean the place where I went was nothing. It was black and I couldn't breathe or move or really even think. I don't know what-"

"It is the Land of Shadow," the dragon suddenly said.

Both men jumped at the sound of his voice. They had become so wrapped up in their conversation they had completely forgot he was there.

"What is this Land of Shadow, exactly," Arthur asked, squinting up through the sun to see the dragon.

"It is the beginning of the end," the dragon replied cryptically. "It is the place where the ancient darkness now residing inside of you was trapped for many thousands of years. It will trap you there, if it can, Merlin. It allows it greater influence over your actions. You must be vigilant."

"Greater influence over my action," Merlin repeated. "Kilgarrah does that mean it can me make do things? It can make me use my magic against my will?"

"Indeed, young warlock. It cannot take hold for long as of now, but be aware of its presence. Do not allow yourself to be caught off guard. If you find yourself in the darkness remember all that is good in this world. It will light the path you are meant to follow. "

The dragon stood up, beating his wings to get them ready for use.

"We have wasted too much time already," he said. "We need to fly. You still have long to go on your journey."

"He's right," Arthur said, vaulting to his feet. He was happy that he had been given a task he could put his full concentration on. It kept it far away from Merlin.

"Can you ride," the dragon was asking his friend. "It might be more comfortable for you."

"I can try," came the tired reply. "Arthur, help me up."

Arthur reached down and grasped his friends wrist and elbow before pulling backwards. Merlin rose unsteadily to his feet, but Arthur was quickly supporting him and the man was in no danger of falling.

"Are you sure about this," Arthur whispered in his friend's ear. "What if you fall off?"

"I trust that you won't let that happen," Merlin replied with a small smile.

The warlock accepted Arthur's help up the dragons back, the young king having to drag him most of the way. Once this task was done and Merlin was securely seated on the dragons back, his body leaning forward to rest his face on the scales, Arthur scrambled back down to grab his pack. From it's depths he pulled a rope and climbed back to his seat.

"I don't think that rope is going to be long enough to tie to me to a dragon," Merlin mumbled. "If that's what you're thinking."

"Don't be an idiot, Merlin. I wasn't going to tie you to the dragon I was going to tie you to me."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said, lifting his head a little. "Did you just say you were going to tie yourself up?"

"No, I said I was going to tie you up. The rope would just happen to connect with me. By chance, of course. I had nothing to do with it."

"That's stupid," Merlin replied, setting his head down again, eyes already drooping. "If I fall than you'll be dragged along with me."

"I trust you won't let that happen," Arthur smiled throwing the man's earlier words back into his face.

Merlin merely shook his head against the dragon's scales and didn't say a word when Arthur knotted the rope around his middle, but sighed when the king wrapped it around his own waist.

"Don't be such a girl, Merlin. It will be fine. Just don't fall."

"No pressure then," Merlin grunted. "You always do know how to make a person feel needed, Arthur."

"I try my best, Merlin. And for you I make extra efforts."

Merlin breathed out a weak laugh and Arthur was warmed by the sound. His euphoria didn't last long, however, because the dragon lifted off from the ground in a surge of speed, his wings beating furiously.

Merlin turned to watch his king and was quite amused to see the look on his face. Arthur caught him looking and glared. Merlin grinned.

"I told you to never say never, sire."

"Oh, shut-up Merlin."


	15. Follow the Yellow Brick Road?

**Author's Note: **_I had a very hard choice to make today. I had to choose between watching '_How I Met Your Mother_,' or writing this story. In the end, I decided to have my cake and eat it to. I am doing both…sort of. More like I am listening to the show while writing. It's just as funny. I am very excited to write this chapter….I hope it turns out the way I want it to. Thank you for all the reviews….my inbox basically exploded yesterday. I freaking loved it! Do it again! Welp, hope you all enjoy!_

Arthur felt he was finally getting the hang of this flying thing. It would never be his preferred method of transportation, sure, but at least he hadn't felt like puking. It had only been an hour, but Arthur didn't sweat the details. He'd even started to look at the landscape passing quickly below them. He didn't recognize anything, but he hadn't really expected to.

Even Merlin seemed to be rejuvenated a bit by the crisp morning air. He wasn't his normal exuberant self, but he had sat up and Arthur would take whatever improvement he could get. At one point the warlock lifted his arms high into the air, like a bird spreading his wings, and let his head fall back slightly, the wind ruffling his hair. This alarmed Arthur so greatly that he nearly fell off of Kilgarrah trying to get behind him in case the man was about to fall.

"Don't do that," the king snapped, covering up his concern with rudeness. "Honestly Merlin, sometimes I think you don't have a brain in that skull of yours."

"You are the one that almost fell off, sire. It makes one wonder who's really the brainless one in all this."

"Merlin," Arthur whispered dangerously. "Don't forget who is king here. I can have you thrown in the stocks."

"I suppose you could," Merlin said, some of the usual mischief returning to his eyes. "But, I should remind you that I am a powerful warlock. Everyone has heard me call you a cabbage head a million times, but imagine the look on their faces if you really did have a head made out of cabbage."

Arthur would swear in later years that he had a number of witty retorts for his servant at the ready, but chose to be the bigger man and hold his tongue, due to Merlin being so sick. Merlin let him get away with it because even the king deserved to win sometimes.

"Kilgarrah," Arthur called to the dragon, his voice catching on the wind. "Why is it taking so long? Last time I checked the Druids were fairly close to us."

"The Druids that live within your kingdom do not have the power needed for this particular task, young Pendragon," came the dragon's reply. "We search for the Fair Folk."

Merlin perked up at this, but the look on his face was not one of recognition, but of confusion. For once the warlock was just as much in the dark as Arthur was.

"You've never mentioned the Fair Folk before," Merlin said. "And neither has Gaius. "

"Gaius would not have needed to," the dragon replied. "Their time was long before him and any records of their existence have passed into myth."

"Then how do you know of them," Arthur asked.

"Young king," Kilgarrah admonished. "I am a dragon. We can live to be a thousand and our memories do not fail as humans do."

"Who are they," Merlin asked, his voice eager.

"They are the first Druids, Merlin."

"The Fair Folk," Arthur scoffed. "That's just a story. Everyone knows that."

"Do they," the dragon laughed. "Oh, young king, you still have much to learn. The Fair Folk were very real, I can assure you. As are their descendants."

"How is this going to help Merlin?"

"The Fair Folk were healers, Arthur. They far surpassed any knowledge of the subject we have today and were unique in that they used their own source of power. They called it Gwella and its power outshone even the Old Religion. But, as with every power, there is a cost of sorts. Gwella was a magical representation of the Fair Folk's compassion. They were a peaceful people and as such their magic could only be used for such purposes. The sorcerers of the lands across the sea coveted their power very much and set out to take it from them."

"What happened to them," Merlin asked quietly, his head bowed in sorrow as if he already knew the answer.

"The humans set upon them with great ferocity," the dragon answered. "The magic they carried could not have defeated the Fair Folk, Merlin. But the violent manner in which it was used was something their people had never encountered before. They would not willingly take another's life and had no choice but abandon their cities and seek refuge elsewhere."

"Where did they go," Arthur asked.

"They came to each king within Albion and sought refuge with them," the dragon explained. "Out of all the great rulers only one had compassion and gave the Fair Folk his protection. His name was Tosturi, though you would not recognize that name. For generations his heirs have protected what remains of the Fair Folk and will continue to do so until there are none remaining."

"That is a great story," Arthur snapped. "But we've got to find them first. Do you even know where you are going?"

"Indeed," Kilgarrah replied. "The last of Tosturi's heirs is King Holdor and the Fair Folk have a sanctuary there."

Arthur knew very little of King Holdor and couldn't ever actually remember meeting the man in person. His lands were shrouded with mystery and nobody had ever returned from it. Tales abounded of a great mist that hovered just at the edges of his realm and it was said that any who entered were swallowed up by its reaching tendrils. Some stories suggested that if the person in question was found worthy they would be allowed into a land of great peace and beauty. Others said that travelers were gobbled up by horrible creatures in the fog, their screams echoing across the barren sky.

Arthur had always passed such fantasies off as nonsense. He was nothing but a realist, after all. He guessed that Haldor was a reclusive man, a hermit, one might say. It didn't bother Arthur one way or the other. As long as the strange king remained within his own borders Arthur wouldn't spare him another thought.

Now, however, with all that he had heard he was not so quick to pass the stories off as folly. He wondered, though, which story would be right? The land of peace and beauty or the creatures? He fervently hoped for the first option.

"So we fly to these Fair Folk and then what? Demand that they heal Merlin?"

"First you must find them," the dragon replied, not noticing both the men's confused glances.

"But you just said that you knew where they were," Merlin said, frowning. "Which is it?"

"It is both, young warlock. I know where they reside, but I cannot take you there."

"What," Arthur exclaimed, his voice rising. "How are Merlin and I supposed to find them in time? We don't know where they are!"

"Peace, King of Camelot. The journey to the lands of the Fair Folk is one each must make for themselves. None will be granted entrance that haven't earned it. There will be three paths you may take. Each path will have a series of obstacles you must face to prove your character worthy of their gifts. "

"What is it with magical beings and test of worthiness," Arthur muttered.

"Power is corrupting," Merlin said, drawing a rather pensive glance from his king. "Or can be in the hands of the wrong person. Strength of character is everything when it comes to powerful magic."

"The young warlock would be correct," Kilgarrah said. "The Fair Folk were driven from their lands due to greed. They will not allow such a thing to happen again for fear their power will be tainted by whatever evil seeks them. If a man can conquer the tasks set before them then they are worthy of the gifts the Fair Folk have to offer."

The two men passed into a comfortable silence and the dragon had no more to offer. They flew for perhaps another hour, Merlin slumped once more over the Kilgarrah's back. He insisted that he was only resting his eyes, but Arthur was positive the dragon's spell was beginning to fade. His unlikely companion had said that the magic wouldn't last, but Arthur had been so grateful for any relief that he hadn't bothered asking how long. A day? Two? A few more hours? He didn't know.

It was mid-day by the time they landed and Arthur was overjoyed at the sight of earth. He had the strangest urge to kiss the ground, but resisted, knowing that both Merlin and the dragon were watching. He looked around them and took note of his surroundings.

They had landed in a small grove of trees, barely large enough to hold them. The sun was bright overhead, but it strangely didn't seem to penetrate any of the surrounding forest. It was as if the light had run into a stone wall and could go no further. Three paths stretched out, each going in a different direction. The road could be seen for perhaps a hundred feet before a sheer wall of mist cut the path from view.

Arthur felt uneasy, but he wasn't afraid. For some reason he got the feeling that the mist wasn't a danger to him. However, what lay inside of that mist could be a different story. He turned away to find Merlin watching him as if trying to gauge if Arthur would actually go through with it. The king decided not to comment on the black lines that were straying into his hands and up the other side of his face. Instead, he turned to Kilgarrah and asked the question that had been bothering him for some time.

"So how are we going to take these tests with Merlin being so sick? I can't fight off monsters and protect him at the same time."

Merlin laughed slightly. "I think you are missing the point, sire. Kilgarrah said the Fair Folk were a peaceful people. Whatever these obstacles are I do not believe they will encompass killing."

"Merlin," Arthur said nervously. "I've always been the warrior, you know that. You are the one that's good at all the sensitive thinking or whatever you wish to call it."

"You're the sword and I'm the shield," Merlin said quietly, a thoughtful smile relieving his sickly features for a brief second.

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing, sire."

"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by your nonsense comment, I'm good with my sword. What if you go back to that Shadow Place and I have to pass the feelings test on my own?"

"Arthur," Merlin said gently. "In some areas of your life you are the most arrogant prat imaginable."

"Well thanks, Merlin. You really helped ease that concern."

"Shut-up, sire. I wasn't finished. As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by your nonsense comment, you can be an arrogant prat in some areas. But, in others, you completely underestimate yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"Arthur, I have seen the lengths you will go through for your people. I have watched you fight on when all hope was lost because it bought them more time. I have seen your capacity to forgive and your capacity for mercy. You are honorable to a fault and fair in everything you do. You judge people not by their title, but by their actions. You believe in people and inspire others to believe in themselves. Arthur, there is a reason the people of Camelot are proud to call you their king and it isn't because you are a great swordsman. Its because you are a great man."

Arthur was quiet for a long time. He glanced at his manservant who was looking at him, as he often did, with complete sincerity and loyalty.

"Sometimes Merlin," Arthur whispered. "I feel I don't know you at all."


	16. You've Got a Friend in Me

**Author's Note: **_Ok. So I apologize for any bloody horrible editing for this chapter. I was with my brothers, my two favorite little guys in the world, but they can be so distracting! I hope you guys like it! The story might actually go a little longer than I originally planned. I still have a long ways to go before ends meet. My goal is to finish before classes start up again because once they do I will have literally no life. University professors are heartless sometimes. Anyways, here is the next chapter! I will make the usual request for reviews because I love them so._

"I don't know what to make of it, Gaius," Gwen whispered, worry evident in her voice. "They are just gone without a trace."

"I'm not sure it is as simple as that," Gaius frowned. "I believe there is an aspect of this we have yet to understand."

Gaius was trying to give the queen some level of comfort while still maintaining the integrity of Merlin's secret. So far, he knew, he was failing miserably.

Sir Leon and Sir Gawaine had come to him the afternoon before to inform him of his king's and his ward's absence. His heart had stopped when they showed him Merlin's bloody, claw-torn tunic. He had never needed the physician's gift of detaching himself from emotional situations more than he did now.

Merlin had been in trouble before, of course. The young man had a knack for throwing himself in front of whatever danger came Camelot's way, regardless of whether it was something magical or not. This time, however, it was different.

No, this time Arthur was involved. The king's presence changed everything. If Merlin had been alone he would have defended himself with magic without a second thought. With Arthur there, however, Merlin would only use his power as a last resort, if he used it all.

Gaius had been pressuring the young warlock to tell his king for sometime now and if he allowed himself to be injured simply to spare Arthur the feelings of betrayal the revelation would inevitably bring, the physician would kill him upon his return; if he returned at all.

He felt he was hiding his immense concern quite well and asked to be shown the area where the shirt had been found. The two knights had readily agreed under the pretense the physician could find some clue that they couldn't. A pretense they were entirely correct in having.

Gaius recognized the footprints immediately. There was only one creature that could make prints like that and Gaius's heart leaped. A dragon. A full grown dragon, at that.

Gaius allowed himself to hope for the first time since he'd heard the news. If Kilgarrah was with him then perhaps he was alright, yet he couldn't help but notice that if Merlin was with the dragon then so was Arthur. He imagined Arthur's horror at discovering his best friend was in the habit of calling upon dragons for assistance. The thought brought a grim smile to his face. One way or the other, Merlin's secret was out and Gaius could only hope that Arthur reacted like the king Gaius knew he was.

It was not long after he'd found the footprint that he'd found the griffin. He had been glad Guinevere had not been with them for that discovery, though she'd heard about it later. Gaius knew immediately what had caused the furrows in Merlin's shirt and his blood ran cold. He had done a great deal of research on creatures of the Old Religion that had been considered myth for as long as he could remember, but had recently been popping up around Camelot. One thing he'd learned was that a wound caused by a griffin had far more serious consequences than the wound itself. Whatever dark magic inhabiting the griffin would be passed on to the injured host. The darkness would overtake the soul of the victim and then be use them for whatever acts the entity inside wished to commit.

For a normal man this would be a very bad thing, indeed, but for a powerful warlock such as Merlin, it would be catastrophic. However, if anyone knew of a way to heal the young man it would be the dragon and Gaius felt incredibly grateful. There was nothing more he could do, at the moment, but give comfort to the queen anyway he could. Perhaps, with more time, he might be able to deduce where the dragon was taking the two men and could come up with a plan of action from there.

"How can someone just vanish like that," Gwen asked him, her eyes so trusting that it broke Gaius's heart to lie to her.

"I don't know, my lady," he replied. "But I do not think Arthur is in any grave danger."

"But it isn't just Arthur is it," Gwen cried. "It's Merlin. Gaius, you know what they are like. Arthur will do anything he can to get Merlin back safely, even if it means harming himself. Merlin has proven that he will do the same. What happens if they are both injured and can't make it back at all?"

The time had come, Gaius thought. He had wanted Merlin to be the one who decided when and how he was going to come clean to his friends, but fate hadn't been willing to grant that wish. Things had become escalated to the point that, if Guinevere were to not know the truth, their blindness could kill them. If the dragon failed in healing Merlin, Camelot would be the first place the darkness would seek. If that happened there would be nothing on this earth that could stop the death and destruction that would ensue. They at least deserved to be prepared, even if it did no good.

"My lady," Gaius said softly. "There is something you should know."

"What," Guinevere demanded instantly. "What aren't you telling me?"

"My lady, this is difficult and I need you to understand that he never wanted to lie to anyone. Discretion was needed to protect Arthur, a task he committed to with all his heart."

"Who are you talking about," Gwen whispered, but part of her already knew. She knew she should have had that discussion with her husband's servant long before this and now she was paying the price.

"Merlin," Gaius answered, eyes pleading for her to understand. "He's…well, for lack of a better term, he is a sorcerer."

Guinevere had suspected many things, but not this. Yet, even as she tried to deny it, the words made sense. Her husband had often talked of the strange things that occurred when the two of them were together. Branches falling on top of bandits just about to strike him down, Merlin knowing the exact location of Excalibur, and even more confusing the servant living through the attack of the Dorocha, despite Gaius's insurances that no mortal could live.

She immediately recalled the moment with Morgana in the hallway and finally understood what had happened. Merlin had saved her life, as he had many times before, and she almost didn't mind him having magic. She was upset that he'd lied to her for so many years, of course, but she wasn't truly mad at him. Only Merlin could get the benefit of the doubt in such a way.

"Merlin is a what," a horrified voice gasped from behind her.

Both she and Gaius turned to see Arthur's knights staring at them from the open doors of the physician's chambers. Each of her friends had a different look on their face, but all, save Gawaine, were solemn.

"That sneaky little bastard," Gawaine laughed with a wide smile. "I always knew there was more to him than he was letting on."

He turned to his companions as if expecting a similar reaction, but when he didn't get one his own smile fell.

"The use of magic is forbidden," Leon said quietly, not looking at his fellow knights. "Uther said that magic corrupted even the greatest of men, Gawaine. If Merlin is using magic then-"

"Then what," snapped Gawaine. "If you honestly believe that Merlin could have an evil bone in his body than you are a fool."

"Just look at what he's done for Arthur," Percival whispered in his deep, solemn voice. "And for us."

"Perhaps there are exceptions," Elyan followed. " If there are then Merlin surely falls into that category, doesn't he?"

"I believe so," Gwen replied, watching as Gaius sent her an expression of relief and gratitude. "Merlin has never done anything but what's best for Arthur and Camelot. I think, that if we dug deeper into past events, we would find that Merlin has had a larger part to play in things than we realized. With or without magic, he deserves our trust."

Everyone cast their glances at Leon, who shifted uncomfortably. The veteran knight wanted nothing more to accept Merlin as he was. He knew that the young man could never be evil, but if he began to question his oaths on this, what else would he question them on?

Yet, if he really thought about it, he could accept Merlin without breaking the oaths that he'd sworn when he took up the sword. He had promised not to allow any sorcerer to walk free under the pretense that they meant Camelot and its people harm. Merlin obviously didn't fall under this category and so, technically, Leon could accept his friendship without staining his honor. Nothing had pleased him more.

"I do trust Merlin," he said, grinning quietly. "I was just testing you lot to see where your loyalty lies. Congratulations, you passed."

"Are you trying to be funny," Gawaine said, looking at him strangely. "Because if that is the case you failed miserably. Good effort though."

Leon scowled and Percival thumped Gawaine in the shoulder. The two scuffled for a moment until Elyan cleared his throat loudly and they both turned back to him, sheepish grins plastered on their faces.

"I am glad we have all come to the conclusion Merlin isn't evil," he said. "But we're forgetting one very important detail. What happens when Arthur finds out?"

"About that," Gaius said, overjoyed and extremely touched at seeing how Merlin's friends had accepted him. "I believe he already knows."

"He already knows," Gwen questioned. "He's never said anything to me before and Arthur wouldn't keep something like that from me."

"You misunderstand," Gaius replied. "I believe that Arthur had no idea about Merlin's magic before this trip, but he does now."

There was a collective silence after Gaius's words and the old physician was surprised to see worry in each of their faces, even Gwen's.

"You mean to say," Gawaine whispered, finally breaking the oppressive quiet. "That the princess is out there with an extremely injured Merlin and he just found out that his best friend has been hiding magic from him for years?"

"Yes," Gaius confirmed. "That is exactly what I'm saying."

Gawaine looked horrified and the look seemed to be mirrored on everyone's faces but the queen's.

"Arthur's going to kill him," Gawaine gasped. "You know he will."

"Gwaine," Guinevere scolded. "You know Arthur better than that and you know how he feels about Merlin. He won't do anything rash."

"Perhaps not right away," Leon reasoned. "But what happens after?"

"I do not believe that Arthur could ever harm Merlin in any way," Gaius said, his firm tone ending the topic. "And neither should you."

"Gaius is right," Gwen said, her confidence in the situation growing. "We can worry about the details after we get the both of them back safely."

"That may be harder than expected," Gaius said, expression concerned.

"Why is that," Leon asked, eyebrows raised in concern.

"That is rather difficult to explain," Gaius lectured. "You see, you must first understand the basic principles of magic-"

Gawaine, who was already growing bored listening to Gaius's speech on the fundamentals of magic before it had really even started, leaned over to Percival, with his hand cupped around his mouth. Leon gave them a look, but didn't interrupt the physician long enough to tell them off.

"I hope you relieved yourself before you came in here," Gawaine whispered.

"And why is that," Percival asked, his lips curving into a small smile.

"Oh, no reason in particular. I just have a feeling we are going to be here awhile."


	17. I Put a Spell on You and Now You're Mine

**Author's Note: **_I have had some questions about the spelling of Gawaine and in the end I looked to my handy dandy book called _'The Once and Future King' _by T.H. White. Great book, if you haven't read it then do so right away. Also if you are an Arthur fan then read Stephen Lawhead's _'Pendragon Cycle' _series. It is great. In the book they spell it Gawaine and so that is what I am going with, even though my computer has a conniption fit over it. As for the way I write my dialogue…I appreciate the suggestion Starburst and am glad that you were wiling to offer your thoughts on the matter. This was how both my creative writing teachers taught me to write dialogue so that is what I have always done. I have seen it done both ways in books. Neither way is incorrect, but I will certainly see if I can incorporate your suggestions in the future. I just might not remember to. Haha. I appreciate all the reviews and adore all of you who read this. Big shout out to readernurse who, not only helped me fix a large error at the beginning of my story, but has also been a great reviewer. That goes diddo for Spangley Pony! Thanks guys! _

"Arthur, doesn't it seem like you're overthinking this, just a bit?"

"You see, Merlin. This is why I am the king and you are not. You fail to understand that even the simplest decisions, like choosing a path, can have dire consequences."

"They are all the same, Arthur."

"That is what they want you to think."

"Sire, are you suggesting that the paths think?"

"Shut-up, Merlin."

"You should really choose your words a bit more wisely, sire. Once you start suggesting that the paths think the rocks will start demanding land rights. There will be riots and panic in the streets."

"I obviously spoke too soon when I said you couldn't possibly get more annoying, Merlin."

The young man came to stand beside his king, Arthur's winter coat wrapped tightly around him. He was shivering again, but at least he was more or less standing on his own.

"Perhaps if you told me what criteria you are using to judge each path I could be of more assistance."

Arthur refused to reply, but Merlin didn't need a response to continue prattling.

"Oh, look sire. There is a slight variation in the density of that path's mist. Perhaps we should choose that one."

"Honestly, Merlin. Do you ever stop talking?"

"Don't take offense to this, Arthur," Merlin sighed. "But hurry the hell up. I'm not getting any better and it's getting harder to control."

"Fine," Arthur snapped. "You choose."

"That one," Merlin said instantly, nodding his head in the direction of the path on the east side of the grove.

"Why that one?"

"Just a feeling that I have."

"Merlin, how often do you base decisions off of feelings that you have?"

"Quite regularly, sire. Now, should we get started? We have a long way to go and I want to be able to assist you for as long as I can."

The young man took a swaying step towards the path and its swirling mist, but was stopped by Arthur's hand against his chest.

"Not yet," Arthur said in answer to Merlin's raised brows. "We eat first."

"I don't know if that is the best idea," Merlin replied.

"Merlin, you need your strength. You just said you wanted to assist me for as long as you could, right? Well do this for me. Just try."

Merlin nodded and sat back down by Arthur's pack. He rummaged through it and pulled out an assortment of nuts and berries he hadn't known were there.

"Where did these come from," he asked, looking questioningly at Arthur.

"I found them," the king answered. "While you and your dragon friend had your secret chat I went looking around and found them growing in the normal side of the forest."

The normal side, or so Arthur called it, was a large strip of tree's and shrubs that spread out on the southern part of the grove. It was the only place that didn't have the mist and as such, the only place Arthur would step foot in by himself. He would never admit it to Merlin, but he was glad that he had someone with him who understood the ways of magic.

"They aren't half bad," Merlin said, popping a blueberry into his mouth.

He settled back against the ground, his head resting on Arthur's pack. His eyes closed and Arthur watched as he barely suppressed a tremor of pain.

"It's starting again, isn't it? The Shadow thing?"

Merlin opened his eyes and looked at him. "I'm not that far yet," he whispered in response. "But I can't have more than a day or two before its back with a vengeance. It's the calm before the storm."

"Do you think Kilgarrah will be able to connect with Gaius to tell him where we are?"

The dragon had left over an hour ago after a long, private talk between himself and Merlin. Arthur had felt strangely left out, but didn't push. He was new to Merlin's secret world and didn't want to make himself unwelcome in it before he'd even began to understand it. Kilgarrah had told them that they were on their own from that point on, but that he would return to Camelot and attempt to contact Gaius in order to fill him in on their whereabouts. Kilgarrah seemed to believe that even if Merlin made it through his ordeal he would be far too weak to make the journey back to Camelot on his own. The dragon promised assistance in this, but also thought it prudent to have Gaius there as well. Arthur agreed.

"I don't see why he couldn't," Merlin answered, closing his eyes again. "I hope I get to see him again, Arthur. If I don't will you tell him-"

"Don't," Arthur said harshly. "There will be time for last words later. It sounds like you've given up already and I refuse to let that happen. So, just shut up and eat your berries."

Merlin raised his eyebrows without ever opening his eyes, but obediently threw another blueberry into his mouth.

"I've been thinking," Merlin said, chewing thoughtfully, completely ignoring Arthur's outburst.

"Always a dangerous past time for you," Arthur snorted amiably. "But I'll play along just this once. What have you been thinking about?"

"I have been thinking about what my official title will be when I become your personal magician."

"Oh, you must be joking. I'd be daft to give you an official anything, Merlin. You'd probably muck it all up anyways."

"I was thinking Court Sorcerer," Merlin continued, ignoring him once more. "But that is sort of misleading, isn't it? I mean, I am not a sorcerer, but Court Warlock just doesn't have the same ring to it."

"Are you forgetting that magic is still outlawed in Camelot, Merlin?"

"Not at all, sire. But, of course, you mean to change that when we get back."

"Like hell I do, Merlin. Just because you are an exception to that rule doesn't mean anybody else is."

Merlin had lost track of what his friend was saying the second after his last words had left his lips. He hoped Arthur would notice how tense he'd become, but the prat kept on talking. He tried to warn him, but the darkness squelched any sound he might have made. Merlin was terrified and then, before he could muster up any kind of defense, the darkness had pushed him into Shadow once more.

Arthur had expected some sort of biting reply from his servant, but when none came he looked worriedly at the young man. Arthur's heart nearly stopped when he noticed that Merlin didn't seem to be breathing.

"Merlin," he said in alarm. "Hey, Merlin don't do-"

As the king of Camelot, Arthur had been in many surprising and often times, horrifying situations. Yet, the one he found himself in at that moment, was the situation that always topped them all. Then again, finding your manservant's icy hands around your throat with enough strength in them to kill a small bear, would be humbling to anyone.

The young man's expression was, once again, full of hatred, but Arthur barely noticed this. It was the warlock's eyes that drew his attention. They were black, the same color black as the lines beneath his skin. Arthur tried to jerk back, but his servant moved with him, fingers tightening painfully.

"Merlin," Arthur choked, attempting to pry his friend's fingers away. "Merlin, stop, please. I can't-I can't breathe, Merlin. You've got to-"

Arthur's words were cut off as Merlin's fingers constricted. He was on his back, though he didn't remember how he'd gotten there, and Merlin was pressing down on him from above. His lips were moving, but Arthur couldn't hear anything other than sound of his heart, desperately fighting to continue on. His vision began to blacken and Arthur attempted to kick his servant off of him, in a last ditch effort to stay alive. He managed to connect his foot with Merlin's chest and the pressure around his throat disappeared as the man went stumbling backwards.

Arthur tried to breath, now that his airways were clear, but his body didn't remember how. For a moment Arthur felt a horrible panic rise inside of him. Perhaps Merlin had broken something inside his throat or even more likely was still choking him, but with magic, but after a moment his body remembered and he drew in a ragged breath. Nothing had ever felt so good or hurt so badly as that first gulp of air. He was coughing and hacking as he tried to force the air past his burning throat and he knew that if Merlin or whatever the thing was controlling him decided to have another go there would be nothing he could do to stop him.

For once, luck was with him. The servant had not moved from where he'd fallen after Arthur's kick and seemed to be having a hard time breathing himself. The air had obviously been knocked out of him because he was looking at Arthur with horror in his once again blue eyes.

"Arthur," he gasped out, once he was able. "Arthur, I'm so sorry. I can't even-Arthur, I nearly killed you."

"But you didn't," Arthur rasped out, trying to comfort his friend.

"Only because you stopped me in time," Merlin continued. "If you hadn't kicked me-"

"I'd be dead, Merlin. It isn't you. I know that. Just like the other Arthur isn't me."

He flinched at that and Arthur had to wonder just how often he'd been appearing in Merlin's dreams or visions or whatever they were and what kind of role he'd been playing. He had a feeling he wasn't the hero and judging by Merlin's expression he was the cause of a great deal of suffering.

"But what if I had-"

"Would you stop this? What's done is done, alright? I need your full attention on controlling this thing, ok? I'll handle the rest."

Arthur sat up, rubbing his bruised throat and looked at his servant. The man had not gotten up from where he'd landed and Arthur noticed he was still breathing heavily.

"Here," Arthur said, standing and putting his hand out to his manservant. "I'll help you. We should get packed up and on our way. The sooner this thing is out of you the better."

Merlin grabbed his hand, but when Arthur went to pull him up, the young man cried out in pain and fell back again, clutching his ribs. Arthur felt his stomach drop.

"Merlin," he said gently, his own pain forgotten for the moment. "Merlin, let me see your ribs."

"It's fine," Merlin gasped attempting to push his probing hands away and get up again. He managed to get half way to his feet before he collapsed once more, barely biting down a scream. Arthur's heart lurched when he saw blood on his lips.

"Merlin, stop," he shouted, noticing his friend attempting to roll over on his side. "I think you've broken something, alright? Just let me see."

The young man stopped moving at his master's command, but still took great gulps of air through clenched teeth. Arthur was relieved to see that the blood on his teeth was from a split lip, but there was still a concern. The king lifted his friend's shirt and wasn't surprised to see two raised knuckles of rib jutting from his servant's black lined torso.

"Damn it," he swore, getting up and kicking the dirt fiercely. "Why can't we catch a break?"

"No pun intended," came Merlin's wheezing reply.

Arthur stopped and stared at him, the anger disappearing as if it were never there. How his manservant could have a sense of humor during a time like this was beyond him, but the he'd never really understood Merlin from the beginning.

"Your ribs are broken, idiot. Don't be funny."

"Oh, I'm never funny, sire."

"Merlin, how are we going to do this? You can't stay here and I won't be able to carry you for long."

"I'll have to walk," Merlin gasped, his face tight with pain and the effort to keep whatever darkness was lurking at bay.

"You can't," Arthur blanched.

"I've seen you do it," Merlin pointed out.

"That was different, Merlin. I wasn't already weak, nor was I fighting some magic monster in my head."

"What other choice do we have, sire?"

That was what it came down to really. Choices. Arthur could choose to let Merlin walk as far as he could in the hopes that they would reach their goal. He could also choose to give up right this moment and run Merlin through as he promised. Yet another option was to let the darkness overtake him and the rest of the world be damned.

Arthur knew what choices he had from the very beginning. Just has he'd known the one he would make. The king wouldn't let his people suffer anymore than he would allow his friend to die at his hands if there was any other way around it. Arthur wouldn't let his friend die period. Not if he had something to say about it. Which he did.

"This is going to hurt, Merlin," Arthur whispered, sad that fate had chosen his friend for target practice.

"I've dealt with pain before, sire. After all, I am your servant."

"Let's get started then," Arthur said, ignoring the jibe. "Lean on me, Merlin. I won't let you fall."

The king pulled his servant to his feet as gently as he could, wincing at Merlin's choked cry of pain. His friend hunched over, clutching his wounded side and breathed heavily for a long moment.

When the young man straightened up again the determination in his eyes was palpable. Arthur was relieved to see the young man's fight come back, but knew they had a long road ahead of them. He only hoped that Merlin would stay determined.

"I'm sorry I broke your ribs," Arthur whispered.

"I'm sorry I tried to strangle you," Merlin replied, equally as quiet.

"Friends," Arthur asked, holding out his arm and jutting his shoulder for Merlin to lean on.

"Friends," Merlin agreed, gratefully allowing to Arthur to take some of his weight.

Both men looked at their chosen path and then at each other. This was the moment of truth, they knew. Once they took these final steps into the unknown there would be no going back. Whatever happened over the coming days would change them for the rest of their lives. Neither knew whether this would be for better or worse, but they knew they would face it together.

Slowly, they made their way forward and with a last longing glance at the world they knew, stepped into the mist and disappeared from sight.


	18. The Knight Who Knew Too Much

**Author's Note: **_So, so sorry everyone! I know it has been awhile since my last update and I feel terrible. I have been very busy and ran into a minor case of writer's block. I wanted to think too hard on it instead of just letting it flow. The next chapter is here now, though! Before I start the chapter I wanted to mention a couple of things. First, the idea of the Fair Folk actually came from _'The Pendragon Cycle' _which I mentioned a chapter or two ago. In the book, Merlin (called Myrddin in Welsh) is a descendant of the Fair Folk who lived in Atlantis before it was destroyed. However, while the name and basic history is not mine, their gifts and the world they inhabit come from my own noggin. Second of all, after this chapter I am going to start using a lot of Welsh because it's going to be the language of the Fair Folk, more or less. If you have questions on the pronunciation just see the guide at the beginning of the story. Anywho, I am very excited to hear all of your thoughts on how you see the story going and if you think its good, so please REVIEW! _

Gawaine was thinking. Normally, he would avoid this pastime at all costs. The past had taught him that thinking too hard on any particular subject brought nothing but trouble. His Royal Highness seemed to be thinking all the time and where it had gotten him?

No, Gawaine hated deep thinking with a passion, but found himself doing it anyways. It was all Merlin's fault. He had been happy with his roving and often drunk lifestyle and then that sappy, loyal manservant had come barreling into him and he suddenly found himself wanting more out of his life. The boy had delivered, of course. If someone had told him a few years ago that he would be a knight some day he would have laughed himself silly. Yet, here he was, the blazing red Camelot crest on his cape and a sword at his side, sworn to protect a king he wasn't quite sure he believed in yet.

He would never admit it, well, actually he might if the subject ever came up, but Gawaine hadn't come to Camelot's defense for Arthur. The man was a better noble than any Gawaine had met, true, but he was still a nobleman and noble blood just didn't sit well with him. He knew that he would never be great friends with the man, but Arthur had earned his respect in a way few ever would. Yet, Gawaine had not become a warrior of the realm for the often times annoying king. Gawaine had become a knight for the same reason he'd helped the Princess in the Fisher King's lands and come to Camelot's aid during Morgana's first attempt at a coup d'état. His reason was Merlin.

At first, Gawaine had merely been curious. He wanted to know why this boy was so loyal to a man that hardly seemed to notice him. It wasn't long before he realized that it wasn't just Arthur the young man was loyal to, though no one could possibly intercede between the men's friendship even if they'd wanted to. The boy was loyal to almost everyone he met and had a kind of heart Gawaine had only heard of in tales. He'd often found himself comparing Merlin to Bran the Blessed, a legend he'd been told as a boy and found it particularly fitting after the recent revelation of Merlin being a warlock. Bran the Blessed was supposed to be a protector of the realm and as long as his presence was known no kingdom could ever invade them. So far this had proved true and if Merlin's past was any indicator, it would continue to do so.

That was, of course, the reason for his thinking. Gawaine had known from the moment he'd met the man that there was something different about him. The thought that he could be the most powerful warlock of all time had never crossed his mind, but now that it had, it fit Merlin well.

He hadn't really paid attention during Gaius's speech on the basics of magic, nor had he felt any need to. He didn't care much what magic was or how it worked as long as he knew why and how it was being used. Leon, of course, was listening with rapt attention, much like a hound listens to its kennel master. The moment Gaius began to tell Merlin's story, however, Gawaine was all ears.

He supposed he was in as much awe as the rest of them were. Percival's brows were furrowed in a thoughtful expression, Elyan's mouth hung open for almost the entire thing, Leon never said or did anything out of the ordinary, but his eyes told of his admiration, and Gwen had tears falling down her cheeks. He felt mildly uncomfortable with the queen crying like that, but she wasn't sobbing uncontrollably, as women had the tendency to do, and he knew she was simply overwhelmed by how much Merlin had done for her, the kingdom, and most importantly Arthur. Who wouldn't be?

Arthur was the other cause of his racing thoughts. He wasn't as convinced as the rest of them were that the king wouldn't do something rash to Merlin upon finding out his secret. Gawaine knew that Arthur cared for Merlin far more than he ever let on and would be willing to do almost anything for the young man. It was one of the things that had increased the knight's respect for his king. As he grew to know the man, and even like him at times, Gawaine had realized that Arthur had an assortment of characteristics hardly found in royalty. The man was patient, in some things, and not at all afraid to put his people first, even if it meant dying.

Yet, Gawaine knew that Arthur didn't handle betrayal well, especially when the betrayal came from those closest to him. When Guinevere had kissed Lancelot the pain of it had nearly torn the young king to pieces and Gawaine knew that, while Arthur loved Guinevere with all his heart, a betrayal from Merlin would be far worse in the king's eyes. Not that Merlin had betrayed him, but Arthur might not see it that way. Gawaine didn't think that Arthur would hurt the warlock once he had a chance to think it through, but he worried that there wouldn't be time for that. Perhaps Arthur would react before Merlin could explain and if anything happened to Merlin it would not bode well for the young king, not if his and Merlin's destinies were intertwined as much as Gaius had said.

Gawaine was concerned about Gaius, as well. Though Merlin's secret was out Gawaine got the distinct feeling that the physician wasn't telling them everything. He didn't know why the nagging feeling was there, but it persisted long after the meeting had ended and they had parted on separate paths for bed before setting out in the morning to track down the missing pair. He tossed and turned in his little bed, grunting and sighing as sleep eluded him.

"Shut it, would you," Elyan called sleepily. "We've got a long day tomorrow and you are keeping us all up with your racket."

"Sorry," he replied. "It's just-well, doesn't something seem off to you?"

"You mean other than Merlin being some sort of super sorcerer," Percival grunted from his bunk.

"Warlock," Gawaine said, surprised that he had even bothered to correct his friend. "He's a warlock, but that is not what I am talking about. I am talking about Gaius. He's hiding something."

"Gawaine," Leon groaned, rolling over to look at him blearily. "I understand how you are feeling. We are all a bit shocked, but honestly, this is not the time to be discussing this. We've got a king and an injured warlock to find. Now, go to sleep."

"But," Gawaine started, but stopped when a heavy boot collided with his head. "That was real mature. And you call yourselves knights."

He received no answer, nor had he expected any, but he was miffed that his fellow knights, and supposed friends, hadn't even bothered to think on his words. He knew Gaius was hiding something and from the look in the physician's eyes, Gawaine knew it was something serious. He would just have to find out what it was for himself, the other knights be damned.

And so he found himself, half dressed and exhausted, at the physician's door in the early hours of the morning. A light shone from the tiny window located high up on the castle wall so Gawaine knew the physician was still up. He rapped softly on the wood and heard a faint gasp of surprise and the cacophony of what must of have been at least a dozen falling books. The knight waited a moment more, and was almost about to barge in and make sure the old man was unharmed, but was saved the embarrassment when Gaius opened the door and looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and something else Gawaine couldn't place, but didn't like.

"Gawaine," Gaius whispered. "I am surprised to see you here at this time of night. Shouldn't you be resting up for tomorrow?"

"I will," Gawaine replied, nodding. "After I have heard the full story."

Gaius's brows furrowed in an attempt to act confused, but Gawaine wasn't fooled. The old man might have pulled it off if he hadn't been so tired himself, but as it was he was too exhausted to be very convincing.

"I'm not entirely sure what you mean," Gaius said. "I told you the whole story this evening. Honestly, Gawaine, if you insist upon not listening than-"

"I was listening and you know it, Gaius. There is something you aren't telling us and I want to know what it is. We are being sent out there blind enough as it is. We deserve to know the whole story, old man, and you know it."

Gaius stared at the young, uncouth knight for a long moment. The physician knew that the man was a good friend to Merlin and had the warlock's best interest at heart. He also knew that knight was right. They should know what they were dealing with.

"You are right," he sighed, opening the door further to allow Gawaine in. "Come sit down. I have a bit to explain."

Gawaine entered the old man's quarters, ducking his down a little to clear the doorway. The space was normally very tidy, or at least Gawaine's approximation of what tidy was, and he was surprised to see a litany of books covering every free space the physician had. The knight gingerly cleared a spot for himself at the table and sat down, watching the physician bustle around the kitchen fire, before he set down a suspicious looking liquid in a clumsily carved cup in front of him.

"What is this," Gawaine asked, sniffing the concoction gingerly.

"It's a tea," came the reply. "It helps to calm the nerves. Now drink it."

Gawaine took an obedient sip, but shuddered at the taste and quickly spat it back into the cup.

"You know," he spluttered to a displeased Gaius. "For a man who spends most of his time brewing this sort of thing you would think you would be better at it."

"Thank you, Gawaine, for your unwarranted observations on my tea making skills."

"I am only being honest," Gawaine replied with a deliberate glare. "Perhaps you should return the favor."

"Yes," Gaius said softly. "I suppose I should."

The man sat down heavily across from Gawaine and the knight was vividly reminded just how old the man was. This couldn't have been easy on him and Gawaine had to remind himself to be patient.

"Merlin's condition is much more serious than I let on," Gaius began, looking into the flames, eyes filled with concern and sorrow for his adopted son. "I didn't want to frighten anyone, not with the idea of magic being used for purposes other than evil so new to them. It would have set them against Merlin, even if they didn't mean it to."

"Against Merlin," Gawaine repeated in confusion. "But why would any one of us be set against him? Merlin is one of the good guys. He always has been."

"I agree," Gaius said solemnly. "But what if Merlin wasn't himself any longer? What if he was something else? Something much darker with all of Merlin's powers at its disposal."

"You aren't making any sense, Gaius. Why would Merlin be anyone but Merlin?"

"I have a feeling you didn't listen to a word I said about the rules of magic," Gaius noted, without a hint of animosity. "I honestly didn't expect you to, but if you had this would be easier to explain. I will try to help you understand."

Gawaine listened and he tried to follow Gaius's explanation of all things magical. He understood little of it, but he was able to glean a few key facts from the speech. Magic was neutral, blah blah blah, the Old Religion needed to be balanced or the world would crumble, blah blah blah, priestesses of the Old Religion made creatures of such darkness souls would wither before it, blah blah blah. Gawaine still felt like he knew next to nothing about the power at Merlin's fingertips, but it was a start.

"I don't see how any of this has to do with Merlin becoming someone else," Gawaine said, yawning.

"Something," Gaius corrected wearily. "Not someone. Merlin was attacked by a griffin, Gawaine. They are creatures that were created by the priestesses of the Old Religion for dark purposes. The evil that is the basis of their creation is like a living, breathing entity that can be passed from one host to another. It has passed to Merlin."

"But Merlin can beat it, right? I mean, he's the most powerful warlock to live, so of course he can beat something like that."

Gawaine didn't like the look on the physician's weathered face and he felt a panic rise in him, the likes of which he hadn't felt since his mother's death when he was a child. Upon learning of his gifts, Merlin had become an unstoppable force in Gawaine's mind up until this moment. Merlin was supposed to be like Bran the Blessed. He was supposed to be the conquering hero, the light in whatever darkness hurdled their way. Gawaine had never thought about him being the darkness itself and a chill went down his spine as the full meaning of such a thing dawned on him.

"I am afraid it's not that simple," Gaius whispered. "Merlin will fight, there is no doubt about that, but an entity of that power will not be cowed forever. Eventually it will become too difficult to resist and Merlin will cease to be. Only darkness will remain and, I'm afraid to say, that if such an event occurs the world as we know it-"

The physician had stopped midsentence, the strangest look on his face. He shook his head and stared at Gawaine as if he had two heads.

"What," Gawaine said in alarm. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Did you say something?"

"No. I didn't say a word. I think you've gone loony old man."

"As plausible as that is," Gaius said distractedly. "I don't think that—there it is again!"

Gawaine strained his ears, but heard nothing. The old man was really cracking up. The knight supposed he couldn't blame him, after all he'd been through, but the thought still unnerved him. It wasn't until Gaius turned to stare at him in awe that he realized something more was at work here.

"It's incredible," Gaius was whispering. "I have never had him speak to me like this before."

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"Kilgarrah," the physician replied, as if that explained everything.

"Oh, that makes much more sense. Thank you for clarifying that for me."

"He's a dragon," Gaius said impatiently. "A friend of Merlin's."

"Merlin is friends with dragons," Gawaine repeated, the situation becoming more unbelievable by the second. "And this dragon is speaking to you?"

"Yes, Gawaine, but I can't hear him over your mindless prattle."

"Hear him? How can you hear him? I can't hear a thing."

"In my mind, Gawaine," Gaius snapped impatiently, as if communicating telepathically was the most normal thing in the world. "There are ways to speak without using your mouth although it seems you are rather fond of using yours. Now be quiet!"

There were very few times in Gawaine's life that he actually remained silent when ordered to and for once was extremely glad he did. He waited while the physician seemed to have an entire conversation without ever saying a word. Gawaine watched the man's expressions go from concern to relief to alarm and back again and the knight amused himself by making words to go along with the expressions. What could he say? For one who hated thinking his mind needed almost constant stimulation.

Finally, Gaius turned back to the knight who was waiting patiently, well almost patiently for him to explain just what had occurred moments ago. The man's expression was disturbed and filled with worry, but beneath those emotions Gawaine could see an almost childlike wonder and delight.

"Things are never going to be the same," he said softly, but Gawaine had a feeling they physician wasn't talking to him, or anyone, for that matter.

"Come again, Gaius. Why are things never going to be the same?"

"The Fair Folk," Gaius began, before shaking his head and stopping. "No, one thing at a time. Gawaine, you are either a very brave or a very stupid man and I believe I may have a task for you."

Gawaine didn't like the look in Gaius's eyes and a he swallowed a lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

"I do have a knack for the stupid," he replied, trying to sound more jovial than he was feeling. "What did you have in mind?"

Gaius told him. Gawaine didn't like it one bit.


	19. Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Author's Note: **_Ok, so I realize that the show has decided to spell Gawaine as Gwaine and I have thoroughly mucked it up by not following them on this. However, I have already chosen to spell it Gawaine for this particular fic and it would be sort of weird for me to change it now. I will, however, use the proper spelling for any future fics if there are any. I appreciate all the great reviews and just want you all to know that they have been received and greatly valued. Please continue to leave them. Here is the next chapter. Hobey ho, let's go!_

Arthur was blind. It felt like he'd been blind his whole life, but he knew he hadn't been and he doubted true blindness would be anything like what he was experiencing. His whole world was white. So white, in fact, that the sheer unrelenting lack of color was making him nauseous and he repeatedly drew strength from his manservant's arm around his shoulders, though he was concerned that he couldn't see how his friend was faring. He could deduce, however, from the sounds Merlin was making, things were not going well.

Merlin had never been a quite man, Arthur knew. He had often cursed the young man for his unique lack of silence in anything he did and found him an absolute horror to go hunting with, though the king found himself taking the man along anyways. Yet nothing had compared to the racket he was making now, though Arthur had a feeling that the landscape somehow amplified every noise he made.

"Merlin," he said gently, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, as he had for what felt like hours now. "Are you sure we shouldn't sit down and rest? Just for a moment?"

"No," Merlin gasped, his face barely visible in the surrounding white. "I can't. If I concentrate on moving I can keep it under control. We need to keep moving, Arthur."

Arthur didn't like the situation they were in, but couldn't argue. He had to trust that Merlin knew what he was doing, though he suspected that his friend was just as lost as he was. He also knew that the man was hurting, but Merlin never complained and so Arthur kept his mouth shut, wincing every time Merlin stumbled.

It had grown harder to keep his comments and concerns to himself as time had gone on. Merlin had become violently ill more and more frequently and would stop, pulling Arthur up short, to fall to his knees and heave out what little sustenance he'd managed to consume that morning. The king knew each convulsion of his stomach muscles had to be severely painful for the young man, but there was nothing he could do but wait helplessly for the warlock to finish, before gripping his shoulder and pulling him to his feet to continue on in the surrounding whiteness once more.

Arthur wondered if this was perhaps the first test, though he wasn't sure exactly what sort of knowledge could be gained about their characters through this particular endeavor. But what if it wasn't the first test? Arthur didn't know if he could bare the thought. He felt like he was going insane, the whiteness pressing in on him from all sides. Every step he took felt like a million and the air had an aquatic feel to it, as if he were trying to walk on the bottom of a lake.

He was incredibly tired. He wasn't sure when he had realized this because time had ceased to mean anything. They could have been walking for five hours or five minutes, it all seemed the same to him. The exhaustion continued to build and Arthur was reminded of the rare times when he'd become so stressed that Gaius had drugged him to help him sleep. The two feelings were eerily similar.

Arthur's eyes snapped open in alarm as the thought struck him. The air was drugged or some magical equivalent of the idea and he'd been horribly close to giving into it. Even now the persistent exhaustion was tugging at the edges of his mind, refusing to be beaten back so easily. All Arthur wanted to do was lie down and sleep forever. There was a soothing voice in the back of his mind, whispering promises of a life without worry or pain, betrayal or death, if only he would close his eyes. The idea was more tempting then anything Arthur had faced before, but he gritted his teeth and forced the whispers back, keeping his thoughts on the young man beside him. Merlin was depending on him, he needed him, and if there was one thing Arthur couldn't afford it was failure. The whole world would reap the consequences if he did.

It was then that Arthur felt Merlin jerk back on his arm and for a moment he thought the man had become sick again, but he heard no gagging or even a pained cough and fear gripped him.

"Merlin," Arthur said loudly, surprised at how harsh his voice sounded. "Are you alright?"

It took Merlin a long time to respond and when he did it sounded like he was somewhere far away.

"I'm so tired," he slurred. "I can't-I can't keep my eyes open."

"Merlin, listen to me. You have got to stay awake! I think its part of the first test. Don't close your eyes."

Arthur tried to push the man to his feet, but his servant wouldn't move. He was dead weight in the king's arms and Arthur nearly fell over at the weight of him. He stared at Merlin in shock. His servant had always been light weight and Arthur had never had any trouble lifting the young man over his shoulder before, but now it seemed like Merlin had tripled in weight.

He could barely see his friend, but he could tell that Merlin was dead to the world and would be of no help to him. The nagging exhaustion still at the corners of his mind, Arthur leaned down to make sure Merlin was still breathing. Once he made sure that Merlin hadn't really died, Arthur attempted to pick his slumbering friend up from the ground to carry him. All he managed to do was fall over himself, his limbs tangled up in the warlock's. Establishing that carrying his friend wasn't going to work the young king tried his hand at dragging his useless companion.

This strategy seemed to work for a time and Arthur drew strength from his irritation at the young man. Every strained heave of his arms was accompanied with a loud curse and some sort of barbed insult thrown directly towards the senseless man in front of him.

"You are the most useless damn servant I have ever had," he panted, trying not to notice how much his arms were burning. "When we get out of this you're going into the stocks for a week, no a month!"

Things continued in this manner for some time, Arthur cursing and sweating, until finally Arthur had drained his limited supply of energy and he fell uselessly to the ground. He stared up at the nothing that had become his world and his thoughts immediately fell to the life he'd left behind and the woman he loved.

Guinevere would kill him if he died in a place like this, though how she would kill him if he was already dead was a mystery to him. The thought felt right though and he would never forgive himself if he hurt her. So, finding strength he didn't even know he had, he pulled himself upright and continued on, dragging his limp manservant behind him, using every happy moment he'd shared with Gwen as fuel to keep him going.

"I swear," he groaned through gritted teeth. "I swear I'm coming back, Guinevere. I won't fail you."

His life became a constant repetition of actions. Pull, rest, pull, rest, pull, rest, pull, rest. He felt like he'd walked miles in sand, but still had thousands of miles left to go. He tried to concentrate on his goal of getting Merlin home safe and seeing Guinevere once more, but the farther he went the more muddled his mind became.

He'd sat down to rest once more when he thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. His gaze immediately flashed to the area, but he saw nothing but the usual wall of white. He sighed and laughed at himself. Perhaps he really was going crazy, but the moment the thought entered his mind, he saw another movement. This one was unmistakable and Arthur felt unease slither down his spine.

He strained his eyes to see if he could make out what it was, but the movement had stopped and he couldn't focus on anything in particular. Drawing his sword from his scabbard, he stepped protectively over his manservant, and watched the whiteness with weary eyes.

He waited a long time, but no movement came and he began to question his sanity once more. He slid the sword back into place and sighed, shaking his head. It wasn't until he'd leaned over to grip Merlin's feet again that he realized his mistake. He'd been looking for movement in the distance, but had failed to notice it right under his own nose.

Something had already beaten him to his manservant and Arthur felt horror and revulsion rise in him as he took a quick step back. Merlin was choking on what looked like a black shadow, the inky substance harsh against their white surroundings. Arthur couldn't tell whether the darkness was attempting to force its way in or out of his servant's mouth, but the end result was the same. Merlin couldn't breathe.

Without hesitation Arthur yelled and attempted to grab hold of whatever it was that was killing his best friend. The moment his hands connected with the dark mass Arthur found himself somewhere else.

Suddenly, his world wasn't white, but filled with color. He had to close his eyes against its sudden onslaught and found himself kneeling, nausea threatening to over take him.

He sat back on his haunches, breathing hard, attempting to get himself under control. He couldn't hear anything but his own pounding heart and he briefly wondered if he'd gone deaf. He didn't believe this anymore than he had being blind, but the thought was still there. So when someone spoke to him Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Open your eyes, King of Camelot," said the strange silky voice that had been encouraging him to sleep only moments before. "See what destruction has befallen you."

Arthur opened his eyes and stared at the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She had the figure of goddess, all soft skin and muscle, curves dancing gracefully beneath her golden dress, enticing hands to touch her. Her eyes, wide and dark, had the knowledge of a thousand years and Arthur was sure that men had drowned within their depths and died happy. Lips, lusciously pink and quirked in just the right manner, curved up into an impish smile, the tip of her tongue pressed against her teeth seductively. Her hair curled around her waist in a black wave of passion, her long tapered fingers running through the curls.

Arthur ached for her and knew that, if she asked him, he would stay with her until his final breath had left his body. He knew this and was terrified. He could see the cold and harsh power beneath her façade of beauty and the saner parts of his mind revolted against it. He shook his head to try and clear some of the desire that had been rising in him like a tide and set his thoughts on Guinevere. His wife, who could never match this woman's beauty, but was more precious to him than this enchantress could ever be. Gwen was warm where she was cold, kind where she was cruel, loving where she was mocking. No, Gwen could never look like her, but his queen inspired more passion within him then the enchantress ever could. Her spell broken, Arthur looked up at her defiantly, pushing himself lithely to his feet.

"I care little for whatever game you are playing at," he spat. "Where is Merlin?"

"Little king," she laughed, voice ringing like silver bells. "He is here, but not as you know him. He is mine now or will be shortly."

"What," Arthur asked fearfully.

"I have such great plans for us," the woman continued, ignoring Arthur. "The destruction we shall cause together will be something to behold and you, little king, will be powerless to stop us."

Realization dawned on Arthur and he felt sick once more. He was talking to the thing inside Merlin, the darkness that was threatening to overtake his friend. Somehow, by touching the shadow, he had been forced to see the thing destroying Merlin.

"I wish you could see it," the darkness continued, any semblance of beauty now gone. "I wish you could watch as we destroy everything and everyone you love, but you'll be dead."

"Let Merlin go," Arthur ordered, knowing it would be a useless waste of words, but saying it all the same.

"Mortals are so entertaining," the darkness laughed, throwing her head back and baring her slender throat. "You have humored me, little king, and for your bravery I shall give you a gift. I shall grant you the pleasure of seeing all I have stored for the land of Albion once the warlock breaks before me. Even now his defenses begin to crumble and my rise to power is soon at hand. Look, little king, and be amazed at the chaos I shall reap."

True to her word, the darkness showed him horrors beyond his imagination. He watched the death and destruction of everyone he loved. He watched Camelot fall, the rest of Albion crumbling soon after. He saw the Veil rip and all matter of creatures spilled across the land, slaughtering any who crossed their path. And all at the hands of his best friend.

The things he was forced to witness that day would be the subject of his nightmares for the rest of his life. To have to witness them again, in real life, would be unbearable.

"You could stop all of this," the darkness whispered to him. "All you have to do is kill him. Run a sword through his heart and be done with it. Nobody would blame you, nobody would question you. It would be so easy. Like squashing a butterfly."

"No," Arthur spat, heart ripping in two. "I won't do it. It's not him, not yet. There is still a chance."

"Fool," the darkness hissed. "There is no chance. You have failed and it is only a matter of time before Emrys breaks. Mortals are weak minded. I knew you would not be brave enough to do what must be done, in fact, I counted on it, little king. I will look forward to feeling your bones snap beneath my fingers."

"Your wrong," Arthur said, strength building inside him.

Arthur instinctively knew that it wasn't his strength. The visions he'd been shown were too fresh on his mind for him to come up with any sort of defense. No, the strength was from Merlin, lending Arthur just what he needed, as he always had.

"We will beat you," Arthur continued, his thoughts mingling with his friends. "Loyalty and love and goodness will always prevail. You won't win. I refuse to let you take him just as I refuse to kill him."

He felt a presence pulling him back from where he was trapped inside whatever world the darkness had created and he followed it willingly, subconsciously knowing that it meant him no harm. The darkness was reluctant to let him leave and tried to pull him back but he slashed at her with his sword. The blade left burn marks deep in her skin and she screamed, so loudly that Arthur pressed his hands to his ears, but still felt her shrieks vibrating through his skin. His vision started to go black even as the presence pulled him back farther and he felt himself drifting.

"Arthur," came a soft voice in his mind. "Arthur, you must come back, love. Merlin needs you, Arthur. Come back!"

Groggily Arthur came back to the present and was surprised to find himself collapsed beside Merlin who was still as the grave. He felt sick and couldn't stop shaking, tremors violently ripping through his body. He was covered in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead. Someone was standing over him, but Arthur's vision was blurry and he couldn't make out who it was. Thinking it was the darkness once more, Arthur began to struggle to get to his feet, but was gently pushed down again by an insistent hand.

"Hush now," said a woman, her voice eerily familiar. "You have been through a great deal, my son. Sleep now. I shall watch over you both through the night and keep the shadows at bay. When you wake up the first stage of your journey through the mists will be over."

Arthur wasn't able to keep his eyes open, but just before he passed out completely his vision cleared and Arthur would swear it was his mother staring tenderly down at him.


	20. Red Rum is Another Name for Murder

**Author's Note: **_Here comes another one of my late night updates. Today I have Captain America as my background noise because I am a complete Marvel nerd. This isn't my best chapter so I apologize in advance. As usual I want to know what you all think so…..REVIEW PLEASE!_

Arthur woke feeling more rested than he had in months. It seemed as if years of stress had slid from his shoulders and for a moment he was completely content, but then he remembered the events of the last few days and his muscles immediately tensed once more. He kept his eyes closed in an insane effort to keep reality at bay a moment longer.

"Are you awake," Merlin said weakly, from somewhere to his right.

"I haven't decided yet," Arthur replied. "Merlin, my mother, she was here."

"What," Merlin said, shock evident in his voice. "Ygraine was here? Did she say anything to you?"

For some odd reason Arthur could detect a hint of nervousness in his manservant's voice and wondered what the cause of this might be, but he didn't bother to ask him. For the moment, he was overcome with a sense of loss.

"I was hoping she'd still be here," Arthur said thickly, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter to keep the tears he knew were building inside. The loss of his mother was an old wound and every time it had seemed to heal something had pulled it open again. "Are you sure you didn't see her?"

"No, Arthur," Merlin said softly. "I didn't see her. I would have told you if I had."

"I know."

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"You should really open your eyes. You'll want to see this."

"Are you in any immediate danger?"

"No more than I was before."

"Then I will open my eyes when I damn well please, Merlin."

Merlin knew that his friend wasn't trying to be hurtful, even though his tone suggested otherwise. Arthur was attempting to reign in whatever emotions Ygraine's presence had dug up and, as usual, used anger and annoyance to cover it up.

"No Arthur," he said, layering his voice with as much authority as he could. "You'll do it now."

Arthur turned over to look at him with raised eyebrows but his expression died before it could reach his face. Merlin hadn't bee exaggerating when he'd said he would want to see this. Arthur didn't think he had ever seen anything more beautiful than what he saw now.

The land was no longer covered with impenetrable white, but spread out before them in hues of every color imaginable. They were in a small grove of trees and their intricate leaves seemed to change color. First red then pink, blue, purple and yellow. The grass in the grove was a vibrant lilac color and strange gold flowers peered over the tops of the stalks, seeming to pulse with light. The sky itself was like any other sky Arthur had ever seen, but the stars were far more vibrant and the night was speckled with bright patches of pinks, lavenders, and greens like someone had thrown paint across the sky.

"Merlin," Arthur gasped, turning to face his servant who was propped against one of the trees. "What is this place?"

"I'm not sure," he replied, looking about him with a sense of wonder that Arthur was sure mirrored his own expression. "I've never seen anything like this before in my life." He frowned and lifted his shirt, fingers exploring the bruised skin beneath it.

"Stop that," Arthur snapped. "You'll only make it worse."

"There is nothing to make worse," Merlin said, shaking his head. "They are gone."

"What?"

"My broken ribs, sire. They are gone."

"Gone?"

"As in healed. Somebody or something healed them while I was asleep, Arthur. There is nothing left but a bruise. I feel stronger to. I am tired, but barely more than that. I think—well, I think you hurt it."

"Hurt what?"

"It," Merlin said exasperated. "The darkness. I know you saw it, Arthur. I felt you there."

"Felt me," Arthur whispered, becoming extremely uncomfortable with the strange turn their conversation had taken. If Merlin's expression was anything to go by he felt the same way. "Felt me where?"

"In my head," the young man mumbled, refusing to meet Arthur's eyes. "I know you saw what I saw, Arthur. I know you saw what I become."

"You say that like you've already decided to give in," Arthur responded flatly.

"It's not like that," Merlin whispered. "I just—I need you to understand that it's possible. This is happening and if I can't stop it you need to be prepared to—"

"To what," Arthur exploded, true anger finally staining his voice. "To kill you? Is that what you want?"

Rage coursed through the young king so hot that his vision was tainted red. He had been through enough, hadn't he? Why did fate hate him so much? What had he done to deserve all this? And for Merlin to ask him this, after lying to him for so many years, felt dirty and wrong and cruel.

"You," he spat, rounding on his servant, sword drawn. He either didn't notice his friend's look of fear or he didn't care. "All of this is your fault! You hated me from the very beginning and this whole thing is your revenge."

"Arthur," Merlin cried. "You know that isn't true! I would never—"

"Shut up," Arthur screamed. "I have heard enough of your lies! It is time for you to realize your place in this world, sorcerer."

The young man had scrambled to his feet attempting to get as far away from his king as he could, but Arthur would have none of it. He grabbed the scruff of Merlin's tunic and slammed the young man against the tree, holding his sword to his throat.

"Arthur, stop," Merlin gasped, his breath coming in harsh gulps. "Please, this isn't you."

"I think this is exactly who I am," Arthur whispered dangerously. "You've been enchanting me this whole time, haven't you?" The young man tried to protest, but the king pressed the blade deeper into his servant's throat and forced him to cease.

Merlin felt the magic building, as it always did in dangerous situations, but the warlock had never been in peril from Arthur before. He pushed it away, but as Arthur's sword point pushed deeper into his neck he knew he would have to do something or else have his throat slit from ear to ear. His eyes turned gold and he muttered a spell beneath his breath.

The king was pushed bodily away from him, landing with a startled grunt on his back. He attempted to get up, but Merlin held him there, the power coursing through him. He didn't want to hurt the king. After all, his behavior wasn't entirely his fault. Merlin could feel the enchantment in the air, twisting around his king, seeking entrance into his deepest fears and turning them against the man.

The second test, Merlin thought. It seemed to be picking on Arthur a lot and Merlin grew uneasy. Eventually he would have to be tested as well and he didn't want to think about what they might throw at him. Arthur had temporarily wounded the darkness growing inside of him and Merlin felt stronger than he had in days, but he knew it would not last. Minutes, hours, days, Merlin did not know, but it would end. If that happened before he'd been tested would he have the strength to beat it?

"Let me go," Arthur shouted, struggling uselessly.

"I can hardly see the benefits of that, sire. You'd only try and kill me again. This is becoming a common occurrence between us, my lord."

"You will let me go," Arthur snarled, rage curling his lips into an unnatural grimace of hatred. "Or I'll gut you like the coward you are."

"Honestly, Arthur," Merlin sighed, rolling his eyes. "I don't think you have the ability to be gutting much of anything right now."

"My father was right about you! He was right about all of you."

"Your father was a liar," Merlin replied flatly anger briefly overcoming his own senses. He shook it off hastily, but the damage had been done.

"Don't you dare talk about him in that manner. You don't know anything about him."

"I know him better than you think I do, sire. Perhaps even better then you."

"No," Arthur groaned, his tone suddenly changing to heartbreak. "Don't say that, Merlin."

Merlin looked at his friend closely and watched as the rage dimmed from his eyes. He was surprised at how quickly the enchantment had released his friend and considered letting his king free of his own magic, but thought better of it. What if it was just a ruse? Arthur could be calculating and cold when he wanted to be.

"Don't say what," he asked Arthur cautiously.

"Don't tell me that my father lied to me," Arthur whispered. "I couldn't bear that."

Merlin felt his own anger bubbling hot inside him. He wanted Arthur to know the hurt and terror he had felt everyday at the hands of Uther. He wanted Arthur to know what it felt like to watch innocent men and women burn as he stood by, not being able to do anything to help them. He wanted to hurt Arthur as he had been hurt and more than anything he wanted Arthur to know what he had sacrificed. And for the first time in his life, Merlin considered being deliberately cruel to another human being.

He knew, somewhere far in the back of his mind, that the enchantment had switched its attention from Arthur to him, but he cared very little for this fact. It would be so easy to tell the young king of his father's betrayal. He had called Merlin the liar, but he would know just who was worthy of that title by the time Merlin was through with him. All he had to do was tell Arthur the true story of his mother's death and Merlin would have delivered the worst possible blow to the man.

He opened his mouth to speak the horrible words, but something stopped him. An incessant voice in the back of his head reminding him of who he was, what Arthur was to him, and the bond they shared. He could tell Arthur of Ygraine, but by doing so he would ruin everything the man had worked so hard to overcome and leave his friend a hollow, bitter shell. His magic buzzed inside him and helped to ease the rising tide of fury until it was securely locked inside him.

"I didn't mean that," Merlin whispered, nearly breaking in two when Arthur looked at him with hope in his eyes. "I was the one who lied, Arthur. I just got so angry and I wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry."

"I forced you into it," Arthur replied, his voice hard. "I don't know what came over me, Merlin. I was so full of fury that I wanted to hurt you…not kill….but hurt and badly."

"It was a test," Merlin said simply. "Neither of us had any control over it."

"Did I hurt you?"

"Not really."

"But I could have."

"You could, but I could have done the same thing."

"I suppose you are right. Merlin, I think we are going to kill each other before this nightmare is over with."

The comment had been made as a joke, but Merlin couldn't help but hear a ring of truth in it. Perhaps Arthur did too because he went silent for a moment.

"Did we pass," Arthur asked eventually, sitting up and rubbing his chest where Merlin's power had been pressing him rather painfully into the dirt.

Merlin had come to the conclusion that the test hadn't been designed for Arthur, after all. It was to test him and his loyalty to his friend. Would the anger prevail or would love and kindness win? He hoped he had proved his worth to whatever judge was watching, but felt reasonably sure he had.

"I think so," Merlin whispered. "We are so close, Arthur. I think we might make it through this."

"I never believed otherwise," Arthur said, stepping close to his manservant. "You even look better."

"It's only temporary," Merlin grimaced. "I think you wounded it when you were in my mind—don't look at me like that, Arthur, it will be our little secret, alright? No one has to know that you shared a space with me in my thoughts though if I were I would feel incredibly blessed."

Arthur snorted and looked bemused.

"Blessed," he asked. "You must be joking. Blessed is the exact opposite of the word I would use."

"As usual you fail to realize all the things I do for you, sire."

"Like get me trapped in some sort of ancient dimension and force me into tests that, if we fail, will force us to wander the barren lands alone for all eternity."

"You'll wander alone," Merlin corrected. "I'll be—well, I'll be seeking out world dominance."

"So where do we go from here?" Arthur asked, choosing to ignore his friend's response.

"Forward," Merlin shrugged. "The same direction we always go, sire."


	21. It's a Hardknock Life for a Warlock

**Author's Note: **_I am almost to one hundred reviews in ten days! You guys are amazing! Seriously, I wouldn't have been able to get this far without all my readers and I appreciate all the critiques and praise I have been given. I said before that the story would be 26 chapters, but I am afraid its going to be longer than that. I hope nobody loses interest. I will try and keep it witty and exciting, but let me know if I am failing miserably. Once again I find myself not being able to sleep until I write at least one chapter so here it goes. Tonight's background noise comes in the form of "_Serenity"_, one of my all time favorite movies and a genius work of art from Joss Whedon. Now on to the story and don't forget please review…I want to get to one hundred!_

Merlin was rarely overly impressed by feats of magic. After all, he had witnessed and even done so much of it in the years he'd spent protecting Arthur that he felt he had seen most everything. What he saw now, however, was something he could have never imagined, and as someone with a very active imagination, this was an impressive feat.

The world in which he and Arthur had found themselves in grew more and more awe inspiring by the second. He was having a hard time keeping up with Arthur because all Merlin wanted to do was look around and drink everything in like he was at death's door and only had seconds to see all he wanted to. The irony was not lost on him, of course. He was dying, though if how he felt was any indication, he had a bit longer than seconds before his mind succumbed to death's manipulative whisper.

His body felt as exhausted and weak as it had before, but his pain had faded and his mind had cleared considerably. Of course, the energy kick his super-boosted magic was giving him had probably helped in some way. His magic was almost thrumming with the power of the world around him and he felt that, if he wanted to, he could challenge the Reaper himself.

"Would you stop dawdling, Merlin," Arthur snapped as his servant stumbled for the hundredth time since they started walking.

"That is your problem," Merlin grumbled back. "You don't know how to enjoy anything."

"That's not true. I enjoy putting you in the stocks. And I enjoy watching you muck out my stables. Oh, and I really enjoy pummeling you in practice."

"I think I have the idea, Arthur."

"Are you sure? Because I can go on if you like. There is a whole list of things that involve you somewhere or another."

Merlin glared at the back of his friend's head before his eyes flashed gold and Arthur went sprawling. The young warlock walked ahead of the king, who was staring at him incredulously from his spot on the ground.

"Who's dawdling now," Merlin called over his shoulder.

He continued on his path, knowing that Arthur would catch up to him before long and the thought of vengeance would be heavy on his mind. He took the brief moment of peace to watch in fascination as the leaves changed from color to color with no discernible pattern. He could have stayed there forever, but he had an unfortunate prat to look out for and a destiny to fulfill. He sighed. Life could be so complicated sometimes.

He heard Arthur coming up behind him and he prepared himself for retaliation of some kind, but none came. Instead his king looked both agitated and excited all at the same time.

"Did you see her," Arthur exclaimed, straining his eyes to see past the tightly packed trees.

"See who? The only thing I saw was you falling flat on your face."

"I don't have time for your idiocy now, Merlin. I saw my mother."

"Not this again, Arthur. I am sure you only thought you saw—"

He stopped at the look Arthur was giving him, but his worry remained. His king, while rational and clear headed in most aspects of his life, tended to get a little crazy when it came to his mother. Merlin didn't really doubt that Arthur had seen her, but he was concerned that her ghost or shade or whatever she might be wasn't all she seemed to be.

"She went that way," Arthur said, pointing to the right with his finger. "I know she did. Merlin, come on. We've got to find her."

"Arthur," Merlin said cautiously. "We don't have time—"

"Oh, you have time to stop and smell the flowers or whatever other girly endeavor you decide upon, but suddenly we don't have time to find my mother?"

"It isn't like that, sire. I just—well, I don't think she's what you think she is."

"You're wrong, Merlin. She pulled me out of your head; she kept me safe. Hell, she kept both of us safe. She's my mother. I can feel it."

"Sire, the third test—"

"Fine then," Arthur snapped. "I'll go after her myself. I don't need your help. And when I come back with her I expect groveling from you."

"Arthur," Merlin said wearily. "Please just listen to me, for once in your life. I don't know how many more times I can be right before you finally begin to trust my judgment."

"Not on this, Merlin. There are some things even you can't convince me on and this is one of them."

His king turned away from him then and continued on his way through the trees, his pace so eager that he nearly stumbled and fell. Merlin had no choice but to follow, though he made sure Arthur knew of his displeasure at doing so. He sighed and groaned and muttered insults beneath his breath.

"Keep whining all you want, Merlin. It won't do you any good."

"I didn't expect it to, sire. I just thought you should know my opinion on the matter."

"Believe me, I know it."

"Arthur, whatever reprieve I've been given won't last forever. Don't you think it might be prudent to find the Fair Folk? You know, so I don't rip the very fabric of reality to pieces and all?"

"In good time, Merlin."

"Are you serious? Arthur, the one thing we don't have in this world is time."

"Correction, Merlin. You don't have time. There is no we."

"Sire, I don't want to be a pest or anything—"

"Fine job you're doing on that front, Merlin. A fine job indeed."

"But, have you forgotten that the end of me means the end of you?"

"I haven't forgotten," Arthur said seriously. "But there are matters more important than that."

Realization slapped Merlin in the face with the vengeance Arthur would have, had he not been distracted by the ghost of his mother. This spirit or whatever she was, whether she was truly Ygraine or not, was the third test. He wasn't sure why he hadn't recognized the signs for what they were before. After all, Arthur wasn't exactly being himself and Merlin realized that the magic that had his very blood buzzing was also dulling his senses. He would have to be far more careful.

"Arthur," he called, trying to keep up with his friend once more. "This is a trick."

"I'm not listening to any more of your prattle on this matter, Merlin. If you've got something useful to say then say it, but otherwise keep your mouth shut."

"Sire," he yelled. "Don't make me stop you the hard way."

Finally, Merlin had Arthur's full attention, although when the young man turned to glare at him Merlin wasn't entirely sure he wanted it anymore. His face was a cold mask, but his eyes were taunting.

"You wouldn't," he said, his voice soft.

"I won't unless you make me," Merlin said earnestly.

"Do it then," Arthur taunted. "Come on, Merlin. You said you would do it so stop acting like a girl and do it."

"I only want to help you, sire."

"Then stop threatening me and help me find her!"

With that the young man turned his back on his servant once more and restarted his frantic search. Merlin didn't really like using magic on his friend unless it was for his own amusement, in which case it would be completely harmless but if he didn't they would be searching for Ygraine for eternity. This would not bode well for either of them. He was only going to stun him. Arthur could be angry at him when they were both safe.

Merlin felt the magic building in him, but before he could utter the words something cold and sharp had hold of his power, shoving it back down before he could make good his spell. He gasped as his breath left him, falling to his knees. Arthur must have heard his servant, but he didn't slow down and Merlin couldn't find the air to stop him.

He knew that it wasn't the darkness rearing its ugly head once more. This was something different and it stung him like angry bees. He tried to use his magic again and choked back a cry as the icy thorns snuffed it out again. Right, he thought, I can't use magic. How could this situation get any worse?

That's when he heard Arthur's shout and a loud splash. He cursed his stupidity for tempting fate and forced himself to his feet, taking off in the direction of the noise. If his king had managed to get himself drowned in this alluring, but dangerous place Merlin would be furious. He would be dead, as well, he reminded himself, but he promised to be the most furious dead man to ever exist.

Merlin could see light up ahead of him, reflecting from what looked like a bright pool of water. A figure, obviously a woman, stood at its banks, her toes grazing the water. Merlin couldn't see her face, but she was staring with intense concentration at something within the pool.

"Arthur," he shouted, unconsciously reaching for his magic before having it rudely ripped away from him once more.

The woman turned to face him and for a brief second Merlin saw Ygraine staring impassively back at him. Then, before he could comprehend what he was witnessing, the creature's face changed into someone far more familiar and precious to the young warlock. He ground to a halt, staring at Freya's familiar features with horror and pain.

He could see Arthur struggling frantically within the pool, his movements swirling the water into furious, seething waves. Merlin made to move towards him, but the thing masquerading as his Freya stepped in his path.

"Merlin," it said softly, sounding so like the woman he loved that his heart wrenched. "Merlin, he's keeping us apart. We could be together in this place forever. Don't you want that?"

Merlin wanted that more than anything. He wished he could have Freya with him and live in a place of such beauty and wonder it nearly filled his heart to bursting. He wanted peace and an end to the constant stream of enemies and threats he was left to face alone. He wanted all of this, but the cost would be too much for him to bear. It would cost him Arthur who, against all odds, had become his brother in everything but blood. The king who went against everything he'd been taught and trusted his friend, merely because he believed him to be good.

"There is only one problem," Merlin said softly, watching Arthur's struggles getting weaker. "You aren't Freya."

He ran to the bank and made to dive in after his king, but the spirit threw herself in front of him. Merlin thought he was going to barrel into her, possibly knocking both of them into the water, but passed straight through her splashing into the pool beyond. He screamed as their magic touched, his burning hot and hers frigidly cold. It pressed into him, sending wave after wave of pain through his body and with a flash of horror he realized that the creature's magic was fueling the darkness within him. He could feel it rising, stronger than ever before and he nearly blacked out when it forced itself into his mind like a battering ram.

It took all the strength Merlin possessed to keep it from overtaking him entirely. For a moment he thought about letting himself drown in the water's icy depths because he believed it would be easier than having to face the onslaught of the demon ripping at his mind and soul with fiery claws. But, as usual, he had a prat to save.

Forcing his thoughts away from the pain, Merlin concentrated on the weakly struggling king. Merlin knew it had only been a few seconds since he'd hit the water, but Arthur didn't have much time. The warlock had to get him out before he became entirely useless to his king. He swam unevenly to his friend's side and attempted to lift Arthur up to the surface with him, but the weight of Arthur's armor brought them down again. Stupid, stupid, stupid armor, Merlin screamed in his head.

He let his magic rise, praying that with the creature gone, his power would be his own again. He was relieved to find that it didn't pain him, though the darkness made it a struggle to direct it. He muttered a spell in his mind and instantly felt Arthur's body become lighter, perhaps even buoyant. He followed Arthur to the surface and when his mouth and nose were clear of the water he gulped in air. Arthur was doing the same and together they pulled themselves from the water's grip and landed heavily on the bank.

Arthur hacked and coughed, but Merlin was still. He wanted to spit the foul tasting mud from his mouth and wipe the water from his eyes, but was horrified to find he couldn't move. The darkness was ripping him to shreds from the inside out, but he couldn't even scream. This was it then; this was the moment he'd been dreading. The final battle had arrived and Merlin was left without an army and a single weapon at his disposal. He knew he would lose eventually, but he would keep on fighting until there was nothing left of him. He owed Arthur that much.

It was Arthur he was thinking of when his vision blackened. It was Arthur's strength that kept his shields up, even with the screeching mass of darkness clawing relentlessly at him, attempting to get at the source of his power. It was Arthur's friendship that would keep him fighting.

Merlin couldn't see his friend's face when Arthur, finally recovering from his playtime in the pool, realized that his companion wasn't moving. He couldn't hear his king's frantic, desperate calls for him to stop being an idiot and wake up. He couldn't even feel Arthur taking him by the shoulders and shaking him relentlessly.

He didn't see Arthur become nauseous with grief, guilt and terror nor did he hear him as the king retched over the side of the pool. He didn't feel Arthur put his waterlogged cloak beneath his head and didn't see his friend's quiet tears of desperation and helplessness.

No, Merlin didn't see or hear or feel any of this. What Merlin saw was the fate that awaited him if he ever gave into the madness prowling just outside his defenses; saw the death and pain and destruction he would wreak. What he heard was the demon's furious howls as it was thwarted again and again by the little strength Merlin had left to him. What he felt was pain; a pain so blinding that screams couldn't convey his suffering. He had to endure in silence because screaming would only open himself up to whatever new horrors the darkness had in mind for him.

Merlin didn't mind the pain, though. Pain was good. Pain meant he was still there, still alive. Pain was a rock in which he could anchor himself. Pain meant there was still a war to be fought and as long as pain continued so did he.


	22. Blessed Be Thy Name

**Author's Note: **_I got to one hundred reviews! I am so happy! Thank you all so much for taking the time and energy to tell me your thoughts. It means a lot to me! Now, about this chapter. It is a little different from what I have written before and it introduces a new character, one entirely of my own making. I really hope it fits into the story well because it is important for it to do so. It is also the longest chapter I have EVER written and took me almost two hours to write. Goodness! Also, from this chapter on I will be using Welsh sporadically throughout the story. I have used it a couple of times in earlier chapters, but I am really taking advantage of it now. If you haven't seen it I have put a little pronunciation guide at the beginning of the story to help you say the words if you like to have them be right like me. Otherwise, just say them however you want to. Haha. Anyways, I just wanted to let you all know that Merlin's suffering will eventually come to an end. I won't say how though. That would ruin it and I am enjoying the attention too much to do that. ;) Please review and let me know what you guys thought of this chapter and if it works ok. Oh, also let me know if you want me to put a little guide that says what the Welsh words mean at the end of each chapter. I can do so if you guys are really that interested. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! _

Awen knew very little about the mortal world beyond the mists. She had heard stories, of course. Her Nan was the appointed Geidwad Arwyr for her people and kept the tales of Awen's kind alive. She had once gathered around the fire pits with all the other children and listened with rapt attention and awe as her Nan spun tales from the flames.

The stories told of the mortals beyond the mists and their achievements and their failures. Nan told of the great betrayal her people had suffered at the hands of humans and of the one kind king who allowed them entry to his kingdom. She told of heroes and villains, gods and goddesses, creatures of evil and of light. She told of great battles fought in the name of love and others fought in the name of tyranny.

Not that Nan had ever met a mortal before. All that she knew had been handed down to her by the last Geidwad Arwyr who had learned all she knew from the one before that. Nan had no real interest in the mortal world other than what she was dictated to tell, but Awen had been fascinated with them from the first time she'd heard the stories. Awen often spoke of traveling far beyond the mists to seek adventure and the wonders of the world, but Nan had quickly silenced her on such matters. It did not stop her from dreaming. Then one day the dreaming stopped.

Awen had reached her 18th cycle and was suddenly told of a birthright she hadn't known of and powers she hadn't wanted. Awen was a Blessed One, the first of her kind in over a thousand years and a beacon of hope amongst her people. All Fair Folk had the ability to heal to some degree, but Awen was blessed with a gift much deeper than that. She could heal more than the body; she could heal the mind and soul. Awen hated it.

It wasn't that she didn't want to help people. She wanted that more than anything, but suddenly she was no longer a child, even though by her people's understanding of age she should be. She had responsibilities and pressures thrust upon her and she was almost constantly overwhelmed by the needs of others. She could feel them in her head, echoes of their pain, joy, sorrow, rage, ecstasy. At first, she thought she was reading minds, but dismissed that thought almost instantly. She never heard actual thoughts, just feelings. When she'd asked Nan about it the old woman had simply told her it was part of being a Blessed One, calling her gifts the Way of Empathy, one of three separate powers she had been given. She hadn't discovered the other two as of yet, but she hated the fact that she constantly felt what others were feeling. The first thing she had done was to teach herself to control it and only use it when absolutely necessary.

Her Nan had attempted to teach her the Way of the Blessed, but she was not of the way and so understood little of its rules. Awen was left to learn of her powers and limits on her own and often found herself wanting in everything she did. She could barely heal a dying plant let alone a living, breathing being. Even now, at 23 cycles, she was a failure to her people and it weighed heavily on her. She found herself escaping, more and more, to the dream world she'd had as a child.

As time passed and her duties became more and more overwhelming, Awen had begun seeking refuge in the forests beyond Eryr Cadw, her home and her prison. At first she hadn't ventured far past the cities gates, but she found her sense of adventure rising and with each passing week tested her bravery and ventured further into the forests, until she finally reached the Veil of Light. Her Nan had warned her as a child to never pass through the Veil. The thin wall of magic was the only thing separating them from the Forbidden Lands beyond it. She knew of the Forbidden Lands purpose and had felt a strange chill at the thought of leaving the safety of her home to venture out into the testing grounds where mortals either succeeded in finding their way or died trying. No mortals had made it in over three hundred years and none had tried since.

In a fit of courage and daring, the young girl had stepped through the Veil, feeling the magic buzz inside of her and found a whole new world to explore. She had never gone back to exploring in the old forests, though if her Nan knew of her whereabouts she would be skinned alive for sure. At first, Awen had been afraid of the strange land, but it wasn't long before she discovered that it held wonders beyond her belief.

Her mother had been a Shadow Warrior, Cysgod Waig in the Old Tongue, and had taught Awen some of the things she knew before she had died. Awen was extremely gifted with the bow and was good enough with the Arian, the sword of her people. She honed her skills within the privacy of the Forbidden Lands, but for the life of her, couldn't seem to grasp the powers given to her by the Way of the Blessed.

It hadn't taken long before the other inhabitants of the Forbidden Lands became aware of her presence. Most of them were harmless to her for she was no mortal and they had little interest in the blood of her kind. There were others, however, that scared her and she had quickly learned the signs of their presence.

One such creature was the wraith that prowled the woods searching for victims to snare in her death traps. The wraith would start as nothing more than a faceless corpse, shifting and scrabbling across the forest floor. The first time Awen had seen it she had screamed and fled as fast she could. Nightmares plagued her for weeks, but it didn't stop her from returning. The second time she saw the wraith she held her ground, watching as the thing hitched closer to her, limbs moving in impossible directions. It laboriously pulled itself to her height and she watched in horrified amazement as it took on the features of her lost mother. Still she'd held her ground. It wasn't until the wraith spoke with her mother's voice, pleading with her to give her a hug, that Awen had fled. The wraith had followed her, but she was faster and managed to hide herself away in a tree. The horrid creature had searched for her for hours, alternating between voices to lure her out. Her mother's was most common, but there were others there as well. Some she knew and some she didn't. When Awen had heard the monstrosity begin to mimic the cries of a baby she had nearly thrown up. How had anyone stood a chance against such a thing without any prior knowledge of what it was? It was no wonder that no mortals had made it this far.

Still, even the wraith hadn't been enough to put Awen off her secret woods and she had learned quickly enough how to steer clear of the creature. The air would grow colder and the leaves would curl in upon themselves as if frozen, but no frost would be found. Awen would run as far away from those places as she could. As she explored she learned more and more about the tests the mortals would be given. She learned the paths and what each of them led to. It didn't matter where the path had started or where it ended. The only thing that made each path unique was the challenges faced. She spent what little free time she had in her forest of wonders and for a brief moment she was able to forget her responsibilities of being Blessed, so it only seemed right that she would be there the moment her life changed.

She pulled a leaf from off the tree she was perching in, pinching it at the stem, and watched as the colors changed. She knew she was hiding and should probably head back home, but she didn't particularly feel like receiving another lecture from her Nan about her responsibilities as Blessed. She'd heard it so many times before she could practically say it herself.

Awen sighed. She wanted adventure and love and well….so much more than what she had. Men were interested in her, of course. She was a beauty even among her naturally enticing people and her auburn hair was a bit of rarity. Never mind the allure of getting to bed the first of the Blessed Ones in over a thousand years. Awen hated every single one of her suitors, though she never told Nan this. The woman had been making Awen's bridal veil for years now and the thought of her only granddaughter refusing to marry would bring her to tears.

She plucked another leaf from the tree and tossed it to the wind, watching it whirl gracefully before touching down gently in the pool below her. As she watched the ripples slither across the water she dreamed of what lay beyond the mists and the adventures she could have there. Perhaps, she had thought later, if she hadn't been daydreaming she might have noticed the cold creeping up her spine or the leaves curling in on themselves as if trying to hide.

It wasn't until she saw a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye that she realized what was happening. The wraith was approaching her pool, face disguised in a form Awen had never seen before. It was a woman, beautiful and pale, and completely unlike anything Awen had ever seen. Her features were different from those of Awen's people. She jolted when she realized what she was looking at. A human woman, Awen thought. Which could only mean that the wraith was attempting to lure a mortal into her snare.

Mere seconds after Awen had realized what was going to happen, a young mortal man burst through the trees and into the clearing, obviously out of breath and was staring at the wraith with the desperation of drowning man.

"Mother," the man breathed out, his tongue harsh to Awen's ears.

Awen knew the tongue of man, as all her people did, but it was heard rarely and when spoken from the lips of the Fair Folk it sounded nothing like what it did coming from those of the mortal man in front of her. It was not unpleasant, she realized. Only different and strange to ears so used to hearing the softer tongues of her own people.

Despite the dire circumstances the young human had found himself in, Awen took a moment to study the man. There was nothing she could do for him, anyways. Helping a human through the paths was the same as signing their death warrant. It voided any successes they had previous to the help and brought their quest to a vicious end.

The man was unlike the men of her own people, though she had never expected them to look similar to one another. Still, she was surprised to find the human man pleasing to look upon, though she sensed with her gifts that he was enraptured with a woman of his own kind. The young man was broad in shoulder and chest where her own kind were lean and willowy. His hands, big and strong, shadowed the tapered fingers of the Fair Folk, but looked as if they had the capacity to be both fierce and gentle. The young man's eyes were deep pools of blue, color's Awen had never seen in eyes before. Her people had pastel shades of sea green, honey, and in her case, lilac.

The man seemed troubled, looking from the wraith to a spot somewhere over his shoulder. He looked to be debating with himself on staying where he was or turning back and Awen hoped he'd turn away with all her heart. Her hopes were dashed when the wraith spoke and the man's head snapped back to the creature, eyes wide and trusting.

"Arthur, the wraith said in tongue of man. "You do not seem happy to see me. Don't you love me, my son?"

"Of course I do," the man said, taking a hesitant step towards her. "It's just that—"

He looked over his shoulder again as if looking for something and seemed concerned when he didn't find it. Turning his attention back to the wraith the young man smiled and took another hesitant step forwards, but not going any closer, as if uncertain whether she was real or not. Awen prayed he would turn away and by doing so pass the last test, but he didn't. He stood there, uncertainty and love battling for dominance over his face.

The wraith did not move from its spot on the edges of the pool and Awen realized the creature was planning on drowning the young man. The wraith opened her arms wide for an embrace and smiled so believingly that Awen nearly fell for it herself even knowing what the creature was. The young man was obviously desperate for the woman's attention and love and this simple gesture on the wraith's part was his undoing. He all but flew forward into the waiting arms of the wraith who smiled and tightened her arms around his shoulders in what would seem to be a motherly embrace, but would turn out to be far more deadly. The wraith turned the both of them around so that the young man's back was facing the pool and Awen could clearly see his face.

She watched horrified as the wraith began to squeeze her victim. The man's eyes opened wide and he tried to jerk back and away from her, but she held him tightly against her chest. Awen could hear the young man's breathing grow harsh as the wraith continued to crush the air from his lungs. Awen was sure the mortal man was going to pass out, but before he could do so the wraith threw the young man roughly into the pool. The man was able to scream a name before he disappeared beneath the water, but Awen could not make it out.

The young man struggled in the water and Awen realized with a horrible jolt that whatever armor the human had on was weighing him down. She watched as his fingers desperately tried to remove the heavy metal pieces, but he couldn't seem to find the right catches. Awen was filled with sorrow. The first time she had seen a human and the man was to die before her eyes. Even if she attempted to save him it would do little good.

Then suddenly Awen heard the angered shout of another mortal and before she could really comprehend what was happening a second man ran into the clearing. He was as different from the other man as one could be, except for matching blue eyes. This man's hair was black and tousled as if he'd been sleeping for a long time. He was thin and tall, legs and arms competing for length, but he moved with confidence, even though he seemed unsteady on his feet. Awen cocked her head to the side when she noticed the dark black lines that appeared at the top of his tunic, wound around his throat and covered the majority of his face and hands. She didn't think he was supposed to look this way and she opened her mind to see if she could feel any signs of sickness.

Awen was almost overwhelmed by the sheer power in this man and she knew, without a doubt, that he was not entirely mortal. The magic running through his veins was of the Old Religion and Awen felt her own magic buzzing in response to his. His power was warm, golden, and Awen felt a strange sense of euphoria build within her at the feel of his magic touching against her own. Yet, there was something just beneath the surface of his gifts that made her feel slightly uneasy. A darkness that wasn't entirely a part of him, but not entirely separate from him either.

The wraith turned her attention from the golden haired mortal to the young man standing defiantly before her. The young man watched with indifferent eyes as the creature changed forms, but when a young mortal woman in tattered clothes took the place of the fair-haired beauty the man's face turned fierce with anger and sorrow.

"Merlin," the wraith said softly. "Merlin, he's keeping us apart. We could be together in this place forever. Don't you want that?"

The young man didn't reply for a long time, but the expression on his face seemed to be considering the wraith's offer. Awen wanted to scream, but she held it in and waited for the human's response. Finally, his eyes cleared and his face transformed into a cold mask of defiance.

"There is only one problem," the man said, voice dangerously soft. "You aren't Freya."

The man threw himself forward in an attempt to get to his weakening companion, but the wraith stepped in his path. Awen couldn't help but yell out when the dark haired man collided with the wraith and slipped through it as if it hadn't existed. The young man screamed, but his shout was abruptly cut off when he splashed into the water. The wraith was also shrieking, so loudly that Awen had to cover her ears for fear of going deaf. Finally, with a gust of wind so powerful Awen was nearly blown from her perch on the tree the wraith vanished.

Not a moment after its disappearance the two men came gasping up onto the bank, hair and clothes dripping, trying to hack the water from their lungs. The dark haired man, Awen guessed his name was Merlin but she couldn't be sure, suddenly collapsed onto his back, eyes wide. She could hear a single gasping breath before he went still, staring blankly up at the paint colored sky.

His companion noticed a moment later and Awen watched as he went from annoyed to frantic, pulling and shoving his friend in an attempt to get him to wake up. After minutes of pleading and threatening the young man seemed to waver on his feet before collapsing to the side of the pool and retching. He sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at his dark haired companion, slow tears of desperation and guilt streaming down his mud streaked cheeks. He tenderly put his sopping wet cloak beneath the fallen man's head, before sitting back as if unsure where to go from there.

Awen slowly made her way down from her perch on the tree and ran to the side of the clearing, feet quick, light and silent. She debated on showing herself to the golden haired man, but she quickly decided that she was entirely in her rights to do so. After all, they had passed the final test. They were deemed worthy of the Fair Folk's gifts.

"What is wrong with him," she asked, quietly stepping out of her hiding place.

The young man turned to stare at her with dead eyes and Awen was a little afraid to see the shadow of anger and hatred within them.

"Come to finish us off, have you," the man replied harshly. "Who's form are you taking on this time?"

"I am not the wraith," she sighed, coming to stand beside the man's fallen companion. She reached out a hand to touch him and prepared to open her mind to connect with his own, but was stopped by an iron blade inches from her nose.

"Don't touch him," the golden haired man snarled. "Take one step closer and I swear you'll lose your head."

Awen took a step back, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. She felt the injured man shudder once and could feel pain rolling off of him in waves, even without opening her mind to his.

"Please," she whispered. "He's suffering. I only want to help."

The fair haired man studied her for a long time, never lowering the sword in his giant hands. His eyes narrowed and Awen was sure he was going to deny her request, but his dark haired companion shuddered violently against the ground once more, drawing the man's attention back to his friend's suffering. When he looked up at her again, he nodded his consent, wearily stepping to the side but keeping his sword near him.

"What is his name," Awen asked softly, brushing damp hair from the man's face. She nearly jerked back when her fingertips pressed against his skin; his flesh seemed to be burning.

"Merlin," the golden haired man whispered. "His name is Merlin."

"And yours?"

"I'm Arthur Pendragon. Or just Arthur."

Nodding and taking a deep breath, Awen pressed the entire flat side of her palm against Merlin's forehead and closed her eyes, willing his mind to open before hers. What she felt nearly took her breath away and she had to pull back almost instantly. As soon as her hand left him, Merlin convulsed once, his pupils glowing a brilliant shade of gold before his eyes fluttered closed. He did not open them again.

"What happened," Arthur asked frantically. "What did you do?"

"I saw what he sees," Awen answered wearily. "I felt what he feels."

"And?"

"He's hurting, but he's fighting. That is all he has the strength for and what little he has will not last long."

"We are here looking for the Fair Folk, " Arthur said. "A friend of ours told us that they could heal him. You have to help us find them."

"You already have, Arthur Pendragon."

"What do you mean I have?"

She looked at him levelly and his blue eyes widened in realization.

"You mean…you are a Fair Folk?"

"I am," she said, nodding. "I am Awen, descendant of the Blessed and the last great healer of my people."

Arthur could feel little embers of hope rising in him. Merlin wasn't healed and they still had a long journey to go, but the hope, as small as it was, was there and it was all Arthur needed. After all, it only took a few embers to make a flame.


	23. King of Hearts and the Royal Flush

**Author's Note: **_Alright guys, here comes the next chapter in my little story. I promise I will get back to Gawaine here shortly, but the boys have my attention at this particular moment. Tonight's background noise was provided by a combination of the Olympics (pardon me if I give a little cheer for my USA gymnastics team here…WHOOT!) and Doctor Who. Both were splendid and served their purposes well. So props to them. I also wanted to give a big shout out to all my readers in the UK because, honestly, without you guys half of my favorite shows wouldn't exist so thanks! Plus, I have received some amazing reviews from all of you and it has really helped. Anywho, please tell me what you think of this chapter as usual because I like knowing I am going in the right direction. Until tomorrow!_

Arthur wasn't sure what to make of the woman that walked quickly and quietly in front of him and claimed to be a member of the Fair Folk. He didn't know exactly what he'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't her. He couldn't stop staring even though he knew it was rude, but her back was turned to him so he didn't think she'd noticed.

Arthur was surprised at how normal Awen looked. She was far too beautiful to be human and there were certain aspects of her features that differed from those of the mortal realm, but she was, more or less, very similar to him. She was taller than Arthur by more than a head and the king couldn't help but notice that he had never seen a woman that towered over him like that. Despite her height, her features were petite and slender, almost brittle looking but Arthur suspected there was a hidden strength in them that he couldn't see. Her skin was paler than milk, almost inhumanly flawless. Runes, or what Arthur took to be runes, curled gracefully up her legs, across her arms and down the bare slender part of her back, tattooing her skin in rich hues of greens and royal blues. Her eyes, the color of lilacs, contrasted sharply with her auburn hair, but the difference only served to bring out her beauty even more.

She was a creature to behold that was for sure, but it wasn't her beauty that impressed Arthur the most. It was her speed and agility. The woman moved in complete silence despite the incredibly quick paced she had set. Arthur found himself having to take giant steps to keep up with her and while he normally prided himself on his ability to move quietly he realized he could not do so with any real speed. He felt an embarrassed flush creep up his cheeks every time a twig broke beneath his feet or a plant rustled with his passing.

Of course, she wasn't carrying an unconscious man on her back and so Arthur decided to cut himself a little slack. He panted with the effort of holding Merlin over his shoulder, hair plastered to his face by sweat. The man didn't look like much, but he was still heavy and Arthur shifted the man's weight to rest more comfortably against his shoulder.

"How much farther," Arthur panted, wiping the sweat away from his brow with his free hand.

"The Veil of Light is just beyond these trees," Awen answered, her accent strange and alluring to Arthur's ears. "It is not much farther from there."

"What the hell is the Veil of Light?"

"It is what separates us from the Forbidden Lands."

"Great," Arthur said sarcastically. "Thanks for clearing that question up."

Awen looked back at him, lilac eyes studying his face. She had done this multiple times now and Arthur briefly thought about calling her out on it, but decided against it. This strange woman and her people were the only things standing between Merlin and the dark abyss of the Land of Shadow.

"You are exhausted," Awen said, after a long moment of silence. "Let me take him."

"It's fine," Arthur replied, gritting his teeth. He didn't quite trust Awen enough to just hand Merlin over to her. "I've got him."

"As you wish," she said, turning her eyes away from him and to the trees beyond. "But, know that the offer stands if you grow too tired."

Arthur's only answer was to shift Merlin to an even more secure position on his shoulder. This seemed to amuse the woman for a small smile graced her features.

"You protect him well," she said before walking in the direction of her home.

It wasn't long before Awen stopped, resting the palm of her hand against what looked like open air.

"The Veil," she said, facing Arthur. "We are here. My land lies just beyond the forests here."

"I don't see a Veil," Arthur replied, looking around him in confusion. "Where is it?"

She looked at him as if perplexed by his question.

"It is here," she answered, taking Arthur's hand and holding it in a spot high in the air above Arthur's head. "Can you not feel it?"

Arthur wished he could say that he did, indeed feel it, but that would be a lie. It felt like air to him and nothing more. He pulled his hand out of hers, strangely jealous of her ability to see and feel what he could not. He imagined that if Merlin were conscious he would be able to see what she did and this bothered him for reasons he could not fathom.

"I can't feel anything," he snapped. "We don't have time for this. Merlin needs help now."

Arthur knew he was being rude, but couldn't find the energy to care. The woman had not been lying when she'd said he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was throw himself into a warm bed and sleep for days. Of course, with things as they were, he could not afford such luxuries, but promised that if he and Merlin made it out of this mess he would do precisely that. Perhaps he would even bring Gwen along with him.

If Awen noticed his lack of etiquette she didn't say anything. She only looked at him with an unreadable expression on her face before pulling on his arm to lead him forward.

"My Nan will know what to do," she said softly. "We'll help your friend as I promised you we would, Arthur."

"Thank you," Arthur said in way of apology.

They continued on once more and Arthur forced his weariness back and concentrated on moving each foot forward. As time went on, however, Merlin seemed to be getting heavier and heavier and Arthur's pace slowed considerably. He was sweating profusely and even though he tried to hide how out of breath he was his efforts failed miserably. Awen kept glancing back at him, concern furrowing her brow.

"Arthur," she said hesitantly. "Please, I want to help. Let me take him."

The king wanted to refuse her offer, to bear the burden of Merlin by himself, but he was at the end of his limits. He couldn't take one more step without dropping himself and his friend to the ground.

"Do you think you can lift him," Arthur asked wearily.

"I am stronger than I look," Awen said, smiling. "Set him down here for a moment. You should rest before we move on."

"No," Arthur said immediately. "There is no time for that. We have to keep going."

"You have pushed yourself too far," Awen argued.

"Yeah," Arthur grumbled. "What else is new?"

"You need to re—"

"I'll rest when he's safe," Arthur snapped. "I can't sit and do nothing while he's wasting away. I am going to get him help, even if I have to drag him there. So either help me or get out of my way."

Without a word Awen slipped behind him and pulled Merlin from his shoulders and onto her own. The weight of his friend didn't seem to bother her at all and not even her shoulders hunched over, as if Merlin was a child instead of a full-grown man. The muscles in Arthur's back, having been relieved of their burden, began to cramp and the king was forced to roll his shoulders.

"Once he is with Nan," Awen said in a tone that dared Arthur to argue. "You will sleep."

"I need to be there with him," Arthur said, shaking his head. "I can't leave him alone in this."

"Are all mortals this stubborn," Awen snapped, irritation finally getting the better of her. "Or is this just stupidity on your part?"

She turned and walked angrily away, leaving Arthur standing there, staring after her with his mouth open in shock. Up until this point she had been the very definition of calm and Arthur had begun to believe that the Fair Folk were incapable of irritation or anger. After all, he had been nothing but irritable and rude since she'd met him, but she'd never shown any signs of caring how he treated her.

Now, however, with her striding angrily away from him, he realized his mistake. He hated to say that the fury she was displaying made her seem more human, but he'd be lying if the thought hadn't crossed his mind. Throughout Arthur's life he had classified living things into two groups: human and creature. But, his classification system was void in the lands of the Fair Folk. What did he call something that clearly wasn't human but wasn't a creature either? Then he found himself asking whether he should be classifying things at all. Before he'd been thrust into the world of magic it had been easy to objectify things by what they looked like, but now nothing was as it seemed. Nothing fit within his set parameters anymore and Arthur was frustrated at not knowing where he stood with things.

"Wait," he yelled, running to catch up with her, flushing at all the racket he was making.

She stopped and looked at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Arthur found himself thinking that if Awen wanted to she could be a very scary person to deal with.

"I'll do it," he said breathlessly. "As soon as I know Merlin is in good hands I will sleep."

"Swear it," Awen snapped.

"I swear," Arthur replied, trying not to let his impatience show on his face.

"Good," Awen said, all anger dropping from her voice in an instant. "We will arrive in Eryr Cadw within the hour."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, trying to widen his stride so he could be by her side. "What did you call it?"

"Eryr Cadw," the woman repeated patiently.

"I have never heard a language like that," Arthur said, watching for any signs of discomfort from either the Fair Folk woman or his friend. Merlin was still as the grave and Awen was still striding along, as fast and powerful as ever. She wasn't even out of breath and Arthur couldn't help but feel a little wimpy.

"It is the language of my people," Awen explained. "Any knowledge of it would have passed from your people many hundreds of years ago. Although, your friend might know of it."

"You mean Merlin," Arthur asked. "Why would Merlin know your language? He wasn't even aware you existed until a few days ago."

"Your friend is a powerful man," Awen answered. "Magic is in his blood, you see and though we come from different aspects of magic it is magic all the same. Everything is connected some way or another. It is possible that, since he has come here to these lands that our magic has connected with his and he has gained the knowledge of our people. I am not an expert in such things, of course. It has been over three hundred cycles since we last had mortals here."

"Cycles," Arthur asked in confusion.

"I believe mortals look at them as years," she answered, climbing over a log with ease.

"Three hundred years," Arthur said, surprised. "Why has no one tried to find you before now?"

"Things become lost and are either forgotten or immortalized in myth. We are a bit of both, I suppose. Many have forgotten the Fair Folk even existed and those that do know of us think us nothing more than stories told for the delight of children. Nan told me this a long time ago and I think she is right."

"There must have been someone who tried," Arthur argued. "We can't have been the first to try since then."

"Maybe," Awen shrugged. "But maybe not. It is possible that other mortals have attempted the tests, but I promise that none have passed them until you. Nan was born two years after the last human journeyed through the mists and none of come during her lifetime."

"Wait…you just said your Nan was born two years after the last human passed through?"

"Yes."

"But the last human passed through three hundred years ago…"

"Yes."

"Are you saying that this Nan woman is 298 years old?"

"Yes, but I fail to see how this is relevant."

"It isn't," Arthur gasped. "But how can she be that old and still be alive? She's ancient."

"I don't understand," Awen said, frowning in confusion. "She is still young among my people."

"Still young," Arthur spluttered, forgetting all about his exhaustion for a moment. "If she is still young then what constitutes as old?"

"Well," Awen replied, thinking for a moment. "The oldest man in our village has seen almost 800 cycles. He would probably be considered old."

Arthur's head spun with the idea of existing that long.

"How long do mortals live," Awen asked, glancing at him curiously.

"Not 800 years I can assure you of that," Arthur replied. "We can live to a hundred years but it is very rare. Usually we don't get much farther than seventy or eighty."

"That is a short time," Awen said, stopping to look at him. "You are a fragile race, it seems."

"We are stronger than we look," Arthur said coldly.

"We shall see in due time how strong your race is," Awen whispered. "I can feel your friend weakening, Arthur. Let us both hope that he proves you right."

"He will," Arthur snarled. "Don't you dare think otherwise."

Awen stared at him, her lilac eyes seeming to drill into the very heart of him. Her gaze filled with pity and Arthur had the distinct impression she had witnessed something very personal to him, a pain he did not wish to be known.

"You are afraid of him," she said softly. "Not because of what he might do to you, but because of what you must do if he fails."

"Stay out of it," Arthur said harshly, his stomach in his throat. "Don't act like you understand."

"But I do understand," Awen insisted. "You care for him very dearly and if he falls you would have to—"

"Shut your mouth," Arthur yelled, biting his tongue hard to keep the sudden tears at bay. "You have no idea what it has been like these past few days! I have had to watch him suffer and haven't been able to do a damn thing for him."

"Arthur," Awen began, eyes open wide in alarm.

"No," Arthur snapped, all of the exhaustion and the worry and the pain pouring out of him in a tidal wave. "I have had to watch him fall apart, dreading the moment when he loses it completely because I'll have to stop him. How can I do that? How am I supposed to do it? I won't be able to, you know. I know I have promised, but when the time comes I won't be able to do it."

Arthur felt a little strange, like the blood in his body was suddenly rushing to his brain all at once. He couldn't seem to get the breath he needed and found himself taking quick, panicked breaths, even as he ranted and raved. His fingers and hands felt numb, as if he'd sat on them for hours and the left side of his face seemed to be experiencing similar symptoms. There was a brief moment where his body tried to warn him of the impending danger, but he ignored it. Even Awen seemed aware of what was happening to him if her expression was anything to go by, but the king ignored her. It felt good to get the words out. It felt right.

"And damn it," he screamed, breathing even quicker than before. "I'm a king, aren't I? I should be able to do something, but instead I stand around like a complete idiot because I don't have a damn clue what I'm doing. I knew next to nothing about magic four days ago, but now it's like I'm expected to just understand everything. Well, I don't! I don't know anything about what's happening or why and I'm tired of not understanding and feeling useless. I've been so blind and now I'm paying for it!"

His head began to feel like it was buzzing and he couldn't concentrate on what he was trying to say. The numb sensation had spread down to his toes and his arms and legs felt like they weren't his at all, but belonged to someone else. He felt himself swaying slightly and his vision narrowed to a small tunnel.

"I don't—I don't feel right," he slurred.

"Arthur," Awen said gently, putting Merlin gently on the ground before turning back to the panicked king. "You should sit down."

Arthur knew Awen was speaking to him, but he couldn't hear her words. It felt like his ears were stuffed with cloth.

"Arthur," Awen continued, moving towards him. "I told you that you were exhausted. You should have rested when I said to. Let me help you sit down."

Awen reached out a hand to him and Arthur tried to take it. He really did, but the moment he took a step forward to hold on to her fingers, he found the ground rushing up to meet him. He briefly felt himself collapse into something very warm and soft before he finally gave up his tenuous hold on reality and fell into the beckoning peace of oblivion.


	24. Mind Sharing is the Ultimate Party Game

**Author's Note: **_Sorry to leave you guys hanging. Some friends and I decided to pool our money and buy a fancy hotel room in Times Square instead of slumming it in our ratty apartment in Brooklyn so I left my laptop at home. Plus, it gave me a few days to think about what I wanted to do. The last chapter didn't quite go as well as I had hoped and I hope this one is better. Anywho, I don't know if any of my readers have had an anxiety attack, but that is more or less what happened to Arthur. I know some of you had questions on it. Anyways, on to the next chapter! PLEASE REVIEW! I have missed them these last few days._

When Arthur awoke once more he felt….well, he felt amazing. His aches and pains were completely gone and he felt more energized than he had in years. He kept his eyes clothes for a long moment wishing with everything he had that he could simply lie there and not get up. He knew, however, that it was not an option and with a groan he pushed himself up.

He looked around him blearily and found himself in a small home made of a stone he had never seen before. The walls were smooth, not rough like the stones at Camelot and each one glittered slightly like tiny stars in a purple sky. He put his feet over the edge of the little cot he'd been put in and was surprised when his toes touched grass. Each piece of grass changed colors like the leaves on the tree's outside and Arthur found himself mesmerized by the shifting prisms of light.

There was a small hearth in the corner of the room, equipped with a large cooking pot. A small bundle of wood stood to the side and Arthur rose to put another piece on the tiny embers glowing inside in order to rekindle a flame. Though the temperature wasn't particularly cold the fire gave him something to do and Arthur cherished having tasks to fill his mind. If he wasn't careful Merlin would have the king trained to do all the servant's chores for him. Arthur smiled at the thought then sighed.

He felt relieved, of course. Partly because he'd made it to his destination, but also because Merlin was a problem that he didn't have to bear on his own any longer. He felt particularly guilty at this thought, but couldn't help but realize the truth of it. With Awen and her people involved it was no longer his sole duty to keep Merlin from cracking all together. He had a support system and for a brief moment felt like he was in control of the situation for the first time since Merlin had sprung his little secret on him.

That was the other thing that weighed heavily on his mind. What to do about Merlin? There was absolutely no way that he would be able to banish his friend. The past few days had proved that Arthur was almost useless without his servant by his side. Arthur had known this little fact for quite some time, but this was the first time he'd ever admitted it to himself. So banishment wasn't an option, but neither, he knew, was allowing things to stay as they were. When he and Merlin returned home, and there was no longer any doubt in Arthur's mind that they would, he couldn't pretend that Merlin was the only exception to the laws of Camelot.

For one, Merlin would never let him get away with it. His manservant would become the most irritable, annoying, and troublesome man he could in order to let Arthur know just how he felt about such a decision. Somehow Arthur didn't fancy finding out just how irksome a powerful warlock could be, but he suspected that he wouldn't last longer than a day before caving into his friend's demands. It would be so much easier to give Merlin his way, but Arthur knew that it went deeper than that. The past few days had shown Arthur both the good and the bad of magic, but that simple fact was both crucial and confusing in shaping Arthur's current frame of mind on the subject. He had been forced to question everything he'd ever been taught; everything he'd ever known. Could he just forget all of the hardship and sorrow he'd suffered at the hands of magic? If it was only the question of Merlin he knew that he would let it go without a second thought, but it wasn't just Merlin. It was his entire kingdom and as a king he had a duty to protect all of his subjects, not just the ones he felt particularly fond of. What if he made the wrong choice?

He knew that he would have to deal with these questions sooner or later, but chose to put off thinking about them for the moment. He needed to find Merlin and see how the Fair Folk were coming with healing his friend. For all he knew Merlin could be up waiting for him to get his lazy ass out of bed and Arthur was warmed knowing that his servant was out of harms way.

He began looking for his armor, but if it had been placed in the room with him it was hidden from sight. He sighed and stared down at his crumpled tunic and worn trousers. He would have liked to make a better and more kingly impression upon the people here, but he would have to go as he was. The more he thought about it the less worried he became about what he looked like. He had fainted. Not only had he fainted but he had done so right into the arms of a girl. Arthur didn't think he was overly chauvinistic, but he had a certain standard he held himself to and passing out like one of Camelot's damsels, or Merlin, was not an experience he ever wanted to repeat. However, it was also a standard of his to pretend that embarrassing things didn't bother him in the least.

And so, with a heavy heart and slightly blushing cheeks, he strode out the door of the strange, little house and walked directly into a myth. He was sure his mouth was open, but at that particular moment cared very little. There had to be thousands of the Fair Folk, their little houses running up and down hills, each one more amazing than the last. Some houses were made of the same purple, shining stone that his own hut had been. Others were made entirely of what looked like glass, although Arthur had never seen glass like it before. There were houses made out of cloud and even more were constructed from the shifting grass.

The Fair Folk themselves were a sight as well. Arthur had seen the incredible, almost non-human beauty of Awen, but seeing so many of them almost overpowered his understanding. They were all comely with eyes the likes of which Arthur had never even heard of before and they were all staring at him. He supposed he was staring as well so he wasn't offended, but it did make him feel a bit uncomfortable. A few of the Fair Folk children even reached out to touch him before being called away by nervous mothers. He was surprised to find that none of the Fair Folk he could see had the violet eyes of Awen. He wondered why this was, but was stopped when the very woman he'd been thinking of strode through the crowd of staring Fair Folk and embraced him like a long lost brother. He stiffened but if the girl noticed she cared little, for she proceeded to kiss him on chastely on the cheek.

"Arthur Pendragon," she said, pronouncing his name as if it were all one word. "It is good to see you awake and well. I hope you found your home satisfactory."

"Uh," Arthur said, blushing profusely at the memory of why he'd been in said home. "Yes, I—well, it was very nice. Thank you."

"Interesting," Awen remarked, clicking her tongue against her teeth and staring at him strangely.

"What," Arthur asked and immediately imagined something terrible like a hole in his trousers or drool on his face.

"Can all humans change color," she asked.

"No," Arthur snapped. "We don't change colors at all."

"That's not what I saw. You just went from white to red in a matter of seconds. Very impressive, King Arthur of Camelot."

"How did you know I was a king," Arthur asked, stiffening in suspicion.

"Merlin told me," Awen answered simply, but Arthur thought her eyes were very dark and sorrowful for such happy news.

"Really," Arthur gasped. "Merlin is awake? Can I see him?"

"Arthur," Awen said slowly. "Merlin isn't awake."

"That's fine," Arthur smiled. "I rather enjoy waking his lazy rump up."

"I don't think you understand," Awen said sadly. "He's not well, Arthur. He's—well, he's losing."

Arthur's heart plummeted, but his brain refused to accept this answer. She was wrong; she had to be wrong, didn't she? Arthur had seen what Merlin could do and the dragon had told him that the Fair Folk could heal him. Surely, with their powers combined they would be unstoppable. They had promised to heal him so why wasn't his manservant better? He should have been being an annoying pest by now, not still comatose in a hell dimension where he had to fight some Arthur doppleganger who enjoyed nothing more than torturing the king's friend. This wasn't right and he told Awen so, rather loudly in fact.

"Why the hell isn't he awake," Arthur growled, aware that not only was he shouting but was drawing the attention of every Fair Folk in the immediate area. "You said that you would make him better so why isn't he?"

"It isn't that simple," Awen began with nothing but compassion in her eyes. It only made Arthur angrier.

"The hell it isn't," he snarled, some small part of him pleased when Awen pulled back from him. "You promised that he'd be alright! You swore that you would help him and now you are telling me he's losing? How does that happen exactly?"

"We are trying," Awen began again.

"Not hard enough," Arthur yelled. "You can't be trying hard enough or else he'd be by my side. He'd be chattering my ear off about the adventure we'd had or puppies or some other useless topic, like he's supposed to be. I never should have truste—"

Arthur was rather alarmed when he felt a slight pressure in his throat that stopped him from speaking. It was not causing him to choke or breath any harder than he already had been, but it was uncomfortable and clearly magical. He whirled around in a circle attempting to figure out who was behind the dastardly attack on his windpipe, but only managed to make himself dizzy.

"Peace, King of Camelot," said an old, wizened voice. "You are beside yourself with worry and heartache and you forget where you are."

Arthur watched wearily as the gathered crowd parted for a Fair Folk woman who looked much older than any of the others. Her golden hair was streaked with silver and her skin was not as fair, but almost seemed dusky, like a book that has been read so many times its pages are smudged. Her eyes, though slightly dimmed in comparison to the rest of the Fair Folk, were clear and sharp, boring into him like a hawk does a mouse.

Arthur tried to speak, but all that came out was a small whimper. Arthur cursed himself. He would forever be known as King Arthur the Whimperer and he felt himself flush with rage and embarrassment.

"I know what you think, King Arthur," the old woman continued. "You believe we have tricked you in some way but I assure you this is not the truth. It has been foretold for many generations that the young Emrys would come to our lands in need of our aid, but we never guessed the manner in which he would arrive."

The woman stepped forward and put a cool, smooth hand to Arthur's face and studied him gently. He jerked back from her touch and she smiled slightly, but there was sorrow hidden in the gentle curve of her lips.

"Emrys is beyond the reach of my magic, King Arthur. I could not heal him as I healed you. Do not look so surprised, Arthur. You must have noticed that your weariness had dissolved and your many bruises and cuts disappeared. A night's sleep, while a healing thing, could not have fixed you so well. I had a hand to play in that. I can heal many things, but Emrys is not meant for my hands."

Arthur wanted to scream in frustration, but was worried that his shout of fury would sound more like a gurgle so he opted to remain silent. Instead he allowed his eyes to do the screaming for him and he glared daggers at the old woman and at Awen.

"You are angry," the old woman continued. "I understand your fears and frustration, Arthur King, but do not presume that I will abide by them. You have a mortal's temperament and while it may ease your worry it will only hinder your friend's healing. Set it aside, young king. If not for yourself than for the man you call brother."

Arthur knew she was right, but it was hard to let go. It was several minutes before he felt the rage cool to a manageable flame inside him and he took numerous deep breaths to speed along the process. It was only when the anger had diminished entirely that he felt the pressure ease on his throat.

"Who are you," Arthur rasped, coughing a bit to clear his throat.

"Arthur," Awen said, stepping towards him now that his anger had abated. "This is my Nan."

"I am indeed her grandmother," the old woman said softly. " But our people have chosen to call me by the name of Rhiannon and so you to may call me this."

"Rhiannon," Arthur repeated, the name sounding mangled on his lips. "You said your magic was not meant for Merlin? Is there someone who's magic is supposed to help him?"

"I believe there is," Rhiannon said simply. "But her powers have not bloomed and I fear they will not do so before darkness has claimed the young Emrys. He suffers greatly, King Arthur. And I believe he does so at your hands."

Arthur's stomach plummeted. It was as he had expected then. Merlin was being harmed by the replication the darkness had made of him. Would Merlin ever be able to look at him again? Would he ever be able to forgive his king for the terror he hadn't even committed? Arthur hoped so, but the mind was a funny thing. If given enough evidence to believe something it will do so regardless of what common sense or truth has to say. Arthur only had to look at his own past with magic to see the wisdom in that.

"How do you know its me," Arthur asked quietly, not sure he really wanted to know.

"He screams your name in his head," Awen said softly and Arthur jerked his head towards her, having forgotten she was even there.

"What," Arthur asked harshly, bile rising in his throat.

"I hear his thoughts," Awen said, frowning sadly. "I-I've never been able to do that with anyone else. It's always emotions that I hear, but with Merlin its different. I can hear him. Sometimes its as if he's far away and I can barely make it out, but other times its like he's standing right by me shouting as loud as he can."

She moved forward and grabbed his hand, but Arthur barely noticed.

"At first he knew that it wasn't you," she told him. "He kept repeating it, like if he said it enough he could believe the truth of his words. But, now, he's beginning to mix reality with where he is now. The lines aren't clear anymore, Arthur. He's losing because it's you. It isn't the pain…it's the fact that you are the cause of it."

"Why are you telling me this," Arthur said, sorrow causing his voice to crack.

"Because I think that you are the one with the power, Arthur. Not the healing power, of course. That is something I have to conquer myself and I will. I have to…for my own reasons. But, you have a different gift Arthur. You are the one he has fought for with every inch of his being and you can help him win the battle."

"I don't understand," Arthur whispered. "What are you saying?"

"You have already been there once before," Rhiannon whispered to him. "You and Emrys joined minds while in the Forbidden Lands, did you not?"

"Yes," Arthur gasped, beginning to see where their plan was headed. "Merlin said I'd hurt it. He said that I had given him time."

"Time," Awen repeated, earnestly. "That is what I need, Arthur. I need more time. You can give me that, I think. You can help Merlin defend himself long enough for me to do what I must. It is risky, but I believe it might work."

"So I just jump into Merlin's mind," Arthur asked, rolling the idea around in his head. "Won't that make me vulnerable as well?"

"Without a doubt," Rhiannon answered. "You will be susceptible to whatever attacks the darkness is capable of and it is likely that it will attempt to turn the two of you against each other. This is will be easier than you might think. Emrys is already confused about your nature. There is a part of him that believes that the darkness is not you, but the doubt remains."

"How can I fight something like that," Arthur exclaimed.

"I will teach you something, Arthur King," Rhiannon replied gently. "Within life we are tied down by what our bodies can achieve. We push ourselves to our very limits, but can only accomplish so much. Within our minds however we are free to do the things that reality limits us from doing. We can be who we wish, do what we wish, travel where we wish. The mind will always be the most powerful asset you have, regardless of your skill with sword or bow. Remember this, Arthur. When you are pushed to the limits your reality holds you to, your mind can always go so much further."

"What does that even mean," Arthur said, exasperated. " I got the first part, but I lost you on the second."

"You will understand, I think," Rhiannon smiled. "When the time is right, you will understand."

"Alright," Arthur said. "So you think that if I mind travel into Merlin's head I can beat this thing down long enough for Awen to heal him?"

"You cannot do it alone, Arthur," Awen whispered. "Without Merlin you will be lost to the darkness as well."

"Great," Arthur muttered. "Just what I needed."

"It will be dangerous," Rhiannon agreed.

"What are the odds of this actually working like it is supposed to," Arthur asked, only half of him really asking. The other half already knew.

"They aren't the greatest," Awen said reluctantly. "There are so many things that can go wrong."

"I already knew that," Arthur said softly. "But I need numbers. I like numbers. They make battles easier to understand in some ways."

"The odds aren't in your favor," Rhiannon answered. "If you wish for honesty I would tell you that there is less than 40% chance everything will go as planned."

"40%," Arthur repeated, a slow dangerous grin creeping across his face. "We've had worse."

He would show this thing just what Merlin meant to him. He would fight with every ounce of his being if it meant hearing Merlin tease him again. He would die fighting in Merlin's mind if that was what it took because Arthur knew what this battle really was. As much as he wanted to save Camelot and the rest of the world, it took a back burner to saving Merlin. Because, after all, it had been Merlin who had saved Arthur's life time and time again. Saved him from becoming cold and detached like his father. Saved him from becoming a man who held others in contempt and judged their worthiness not on actions but on blood. Saved him from becoming lost in sorrow and despair. Saved his love for Guinevere and saved Guinevere's love for him.

Now it was his turn to do the saving and his soul be damned if he didn't put up one hell of a fight.


	25. Drinking Games Only Lead to Trouble

**Author's Note: **_Man oh man, today has been very rough. I am trying to work out some stuff by writing so I hope this chapter turns out well. It would be great to get everyone's feedback on how you think the story is going. Thanks! Happy Reading!_

Awen was terrified. She had been scared before, of course. What person hasn't? This terror, however, felt different from all the others. It writhed in her stomach like angry snakes and she could feel it buzzing at the edges of her mind, threatening to take over all rational thought.

She had promised Arthur that she would save his friend from whatever fate the darkness had in store for him and she'd meant it at the time. Now, having been given time for her thoughts to catch up to her words, she realized what a difficult endeavor she had undertaken. She had no idea what to do and seeing as she hadn't been able to learn the Ways of the Blessed for the many long years she had been trying at it she wasn't sure how she was going to learn within a day.

A day. How short a stretch of time that seemed. Perhaps if she broke it down from hours to minutes and minutes to seconds it would give the impression of being longer, but the truth was that both of her newfound friend's clocks were ticking. Nan had told Arthur that if he stayed within Merlin's mind for longer than a day there would be no escaping. The young king had made some feeble joke about how horrible it would be to be trapped within the confines of his servant's mind, but anyone could see that Arthur was more worried for his friend than for himself.

Perhaps if Arthur hadn't seemed so damned trusting it would have made the task before her easier. The king truly believed that she would not fail them, but Awen knew the unarguable truth. She could fail and if she did the whole world would suffer the consequences. She had never had such responsibility fall entirely on her shoulders before. Sure, the pressure of becoming what she was meant to be was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, but until this moment she had been able to take her time in learning.

Nan had always told her that there would be a time when she could no longer deny what she was. Awen had replied that she was in no way shape or form denying anything about her destiny. How could she? The expectation was written all over her people's faces and mirrored in their eyes. No, she wasn't denying, she was simply…procrastinating. And now she was paying the price and Merlin was paying it with her.

Merlin. Awen had never met or seen anyone like the young man before. She felt like she knew him; knew his heart and soul as well as she knew her own. She had the man's trials, fears, hopes and his dreams stamped out across her heart and without even realizing it she had fallen in love. Of course, she realized how ridiculously silly that notion was. She hadn't really even met the man, not in the conventional sense, at least and how anyone could fall in love under those circumstances was beyond her, but there it was all the same. What made it even more confusing was that she couldn't quite pinpoint the direction that love wanted to take. She had been pining for an epic romance since she'd been a child, but now that she had it she wasn't sure what to do with it.

She watched the young man thrash restlessly and flinched when she heard the distant scream in her head. Her fingers curled around his own and he calmed slightly, his pale and clammy body lying still on the cot. Her eyes followed the path of the lines that trailed up his arm and down across the rest of his chest and stomach before disappearing beneath his trousers. She was surprised when his fingers tightened on hers, but whether he was actually seeking human contact or the action was merely convulsive she didn't know.

"Damn it," she cried suddenly, wrenching her hand from his. "I can't do this!"

"Not exactly comforting words," Arthur whispered from behind her and she whirled around to face him, embarrassed that he'd heard her outburst.

He was attempting to smile, but it was grim and desperate and Awen wished he would stop. He must have seen the look on her face because his forced smile dropped and he was the serious young king once more.

"I'm terrified," she admitted. "I do not want to fail him."

"Him," Arthur inquired, a small genuine smile quirking his lips slightly. "Only him?"

"I meant both of you," she said quickly, feeling warmth spread up her cheeks in a way that was very uncharacteristic of her people. "Of course I meant both of you. "

"It's alright," the king replied. "I can tell how you feel about him. "

"I don't quite understand what you mean."

"Awen," Arthur said gently. "I've seen my wife look at me the exact same way you look at him."

"Perhaps you are misreading the look, Arthur. Maybe while you are mistaking her look for affection she is really thinking about how piggy you are."

"I am not fat," Arthur exclaimed, letting out an unexpected bark of laughter. His eyes fell to Merlin and he shook his head, grinning slightly. Then he looked back at her and said, "As amusing as my wife thinking I am…piggy is, I think we both know what I really mean."

"I don't know how to explain it," Awen sighed, knowing she couldn't fool her new friend. "It is completely insane, but I feel as if I have known him all my life. He's in my heart, Arthur. What that means exactly, I don't know, but he's there."

"Sometimes," Arthur said slowly as if almost unsure whether he really wanted to say what he planned to. "Sometimes, love doesn't make sense. It defies natural laws and laughs when we try to resist it. Guinevere, my wife, taught me that. I was so stupid for so long and blind to what was right in front of me. And when I finally did see I spent so much time wondering if it was right or true that I made us both needlessly miserable. It wasn't until I accepted what was and what wasn't that I was finally happy; that we were happy."

"You love her," Awen said. It wasn't a question.

"More than anything," Arthur replied without hesitation. "Real love never makes sense, Awen, but that is what makes it great, I suppose." He smiled then and studied his servant once more. "Merlin would never let me hear the end of it if he heard me waxing philosophical like this. He'd tease me for years to come and make sure all my knights knew of it so they could join in."

"You are very fond of him," Awen said, once again not really asking.

"I wasn't always," Arthur replied. "When I first met him I thought he was the most obnoxious, insufferable man alive."

"What changed," Awen asked, interested to hear more about, what seemed to her, a very deep bond.

"I'm not sure," the king answered, frowning slightly. "I don't think it was any single moment in time. It just…happened. Even now I can't pinpoint when exactly he started changing me."

"Changing you?"

"Yes, he changed me, there is no doubt about that. I don't think a single aspect of myself rubbed off on him, though. He was already a great man and he showed me that I could be a good man and a good king all at the same time. My father never showed me that. He believed that a strong hand makes a strong kingdom, but he was wrong in many ways."

"He cares for you also," Awen told the king. "His loyalty to you is almost daunting."

"I know," Arthur replied quietly. "It scares me sometimes. I've never had anyone believe in me as much as he does. Sometimes I wonder if he's made a grave mistake by putting his faith in me."

"I don't think so," Awen whispered. "From what I have seen you have all the qualities of a man destined for great and wonderful things. You are a good king, Arthur. And an even better friend."

"I'm not the great one," Arthur replied. "And even if I am it is only because I had help along the way."

"The people we meet are what shape us," Awen agreed. "My Nan used to tell me that when I was a girl."

"Your Nan is very wise," Arthur smiled.

"Wisdom comes with age," Nan snapped, pushing herself into the little purple stoned house. "Bah! Time can keep its filthy wisdom. I'd rather be young again and be able to sit down without hearing my knees crackle like grease in a pan."

"Nan," Awen admonished. "Your knees don't crackle that bad. Besides, you are barely 400 cycles. You've got ages left to go."

"Don't remind me," Nan said, raising an eyebrow at her granddaughter and then at Arthur. "Now, are we ready to begin?"

"I am," Arthur responded, face shifting into a neutral mask. "What do I need to do?"

"Just stand there and look handsome until I tell you otherwise," Nan answered him. "I need one last ingredient to make the potion work the way it is supposed to."

She took a vial of what looked like pasty, speckled yellow mud from her dress pocket and Awen had to stifle a laugh when Arthur wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Please tell me I don't have to drink that," he said, eyeing the vial with something like fear in his steady gaze.

"No," Nan answered, but Awen could see the impish glint in her grandmother's faded periwinkle eyes. "You don't have to drink this, young king, but you will have to eat it."

Arthur turned green and Awen could tell his stomach was already rebelling at the thought.

"Do I even want to know what's in it," he asked, closing his eyes on the fit of nausea sweeping through him.

"Probably not," Nan replied, grabbing a slim knife from a counter set against the far wall. "Ignorance is bliss or so they say. Awen, help me hold the warlock's head still."

Awen moved to the back of the cot and gently held Merlin's head while her grandmother snipped a small lock of hair from the front. The old woman lifted the vial to her face and watched carefully as she sprinkled the hair into the paste. It turned from putrid yellow to something with a slightly greenish, brownish hue to it. Arthur felt his stomach roll.

"That has hair in it," he said needlessly.

"Yes," Nan answered, mixing the concoction up with a little spoon.

"It has Merlin's hair in it."

"Your powers of deduction are mesmerizing, King of Camelot. Please tell me how you do it."

"It has Merlin's hair in it and you want me to eat it?"

"Honestly, Arthur. I thought mortal kings were supposed to fearless and yet you are too afraid to eat a little hair."

"I'm not afraid," Arthur said, bristling slightly. "It's just disgusting, that's all."

"Yes," Nan said stoically. "Such things are rarely a culinary treat but I expect you'll manage. Awen, bring that extra cot over here, would you? Set it right beside the warlock's."

Awen complied and moved the makeshift bed to Merlin's side. Nan made sure that the single wolf fur blanket was going to be enough padding for the young king and plumped the tiny little pillow Arthur had chosen. Once this task was done, she beckoned the young king onto the cot where he sat, wide eyed, awaiting his next instructions.

"Eat up," Nan ordered, holding the vial out to the king.

"The whole thing," Arthur asked incredulously.

"Every last bit of it," Nan answered, voice as serious as the grave. "It won't work otherwise."

Arthur looked distastefully at the lumpy mass of goo he was about to ingest and Awen didn't know whether to be amused to sympathetic. She tried for a bit of both.

"It helps if you hold your nose," she encouraged. "And try not to think about what's in it."

"I can't think about anything else," Arthur whispered. "If I think about what I am about to do I might throw up."

"Don't be so dramatic," Nan scolded. "Foul taste won't kill you."

"I wasn't talking about the foul taste," Arthur grimaced, glancing at Merlin.

"No," Nan replied, her features softening. "I didn't really think you were."

Arthur stared at his friend for another long moment before turning back to the two of them. He raised the vial in a mock cheer, but his eyes remained grim and he was frowning.

"Here goes nothing," the king muttered before throwing back the vial and pouring the contents down his throat.

For a moment Awen thought he was going to make it without any sort of incident, but her hopes were dashed when she heard him gag. She turned to watch him try to control his stomach, closing his eyes and clenching his fists to keep his stomach from ejecting its contents all over the sheets. He shook his head and when he'd finally swallowed all of it he tried to wipe the offending taste from his tongue.

"Blech," he coughed. "This is the most disgusting taste I ever had the misfortune of having in my mouth. Honestly, what on earth was in that?"

"Frog gut," Nan supplied.

Arthur's head shot up almost comically and Awen nearly laughed as he realized a moment too late that the old woman had been joking. He shook his head again and when Nan offered him a pitcher of water the young man took it gratefully.

"How long is this supposed to take," he asked, pouring a small glass and ridding his mouth of the horrible remnants of whatever had been in the vial.

"Not long," Nan answered, watching as the young man attempted to pour himself another glass, but instead dumped the entire contents of the pitcher on the floor.

"Did I do that," the young man asked sluggishly, staring at the water seeping across the floorboards with something akin to wonder.

Arthur sat back against the wall, his breathing becoming slower and his eyes fluttering.

"I don't like this," he lamented, his mind feeling like it was in two places at once, which, of course, it was. His hands were the first appendages to go numb followed swiftly by the rest of his body. He could feel his heart slowing, each laborious pump of his heart sending a violent throb through his body, until finally it stopped altogether.

The two women watched as the young king's head drooped and his breathing became near nonexistent. His eyes were open, but unseeing and Awen shivered at the corpse that wasn't really a corpse. She and her grandmother shifted the man until he was laying flat on his back, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Awen couldn't handle it and she gently swept a hand across his eyes to close them, before shifting her gaze back to her grandmother.

"Are you sure about this, Nan?" she asked, growing increasingly worried. "You aren't as young as you used to be and holding someone's life essence stable has never been an easy task. What if you lose it?"

"Have faith," her Nan scolded. "I will not allow the young king's life slip away entirely. As long as I have a wisp of it in my grasp a part of him will remain rooted here. He will not die under my watch. Besides, Blessed One I do believe you have other tasks at hand that require your attention much more than I do."

She clenched her jaw and nodded, staring at the young king who had possibly sacrificed everything for his friend and the warlock who was fighting valiantly for his humanity. She could do this. She had to do this. And so, Awen turned and headed out the door, ignoring the stares of her people and for once not thinking of what they expected of her. Instead, she gave her attention to what she expected of herself. She could be great for them, she knew. She could feel the power as she had always been able to, but this time it was different. This time she had a reason to try. This time she had a reason to succeed.


	26. Gawaine Versus the Probability Theory

**Author's Note: **_Sorry the upload took so long! I will try for two chapters tonight. I loved all the responses I got from the last chapter and thoroughly look forward to more. I am so, so relieved that you guys actually find my writing funny. I always worry that I make it sound silly and stupid so thanks for the reassurance. As far as how awful Merlin has had it in this story I want to assure you all that there is a reason behind it. I have always felt that, while Arthur and Merlin have a very intense friendship, a hardship would have to be faced in order to overcome Arthur's feelings on magic. He would have to be forced to realize just how much Merlin means to him because Arthur is pigheaded that way. Also, thanks to Starburst for your critique and I am sorry if you got a little bored in some of the earlier chapters. I promise you that they were needed to further the story and to get where I needed to go and I tried to switch the point of view around quite often because I agree that writing through the eyes of the same person can really mess up the writing. Besides, there is only so much witty banter I can come up with at a moments notice. ;) However, Arthur, Merlin, Gwen, Leon, Gawaine, Awen and even Gaius all had chapters in the story that told the story from their point of view so I think I managed a little variety. Hopefully you will like what comes in later chapters. Anyways, sorry for the long and monotonous note from me. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! Follows and Favorites make me feel good, but reviews let me know how I should proceed and give me motivation to do so. Thanks for reading! _

When Gawaine had first made the spontaneous decision to become a knight under the future king of Camelot, he had only done so under the assumption that once the battle was over he would be free to roam once more. He had never intended to settle in a single spot nor become a constant companion to the Princess himself, yet it seemed fate had other intentions.

He had been ready to leave, so much so in fact, that he'd had his small pack of provisions by the knight's chamber doors ready to go for when he finally decided to slip into the night. Every evening he would swing the bag over his shoulders and make it as far as the castle gates before he thought up a reason as to why he couldn't yet abandon his unwanted companions. At first it had been Merlin and the fantasized devastation the boy would feel at his unlikely friend's departure. Then it had been the idea of leaving Camelot in such disarray. After all, he may not like the noble bloods very much, but he didn't have anything against the people of the Lower Town and they had been the ones who had bore the brunt of the attack. He could stay and help them pick up their lives before moving on, couldn't he? After all, the open road would wait for him. It always had.

As time went on, however, Gawaine found his enthusiasm for leaving dwindling. It wasn't that he didn't yearn for adventure and freedom because he could still feel that need thrumming through his veins, but as he spent more time in Camelot Gawain had found something he had never really had before. He found a family. Sure, he had a sister, but he rarely thought about her and when he did it was with shudders of distaste. She was family purely by title and Gawain had never felt any sort of loyalty or love towards her. Yet, the men of Camelot had accepted him among their ranks and other than Leon most of them had come from backgrounds similar to his own. He loved them for it.

Then there was Merlin. When he had first met the young man the unlikely knight had felt a strange, pure sense of peace drift over him, if only for a moment. It had been enough to intrigue him, however and as Gawaine spent more time with the servant he found that he actually liked the man. He'd only made his vow to Arthur because he knew that it would make Merlin proud of him, and for some unfathomable reason this meant a great deal to Gawaine. His loyalty had been to Merlin and Merlin alone, at least at first. It wasn't until months later that it had spread from the clumsy young man to his fellow knight's and finally, just the tiniest bit, to Arthur.

Whatever his reservations were at the beginning, if Gawaine had known he would be trading in his life of travel and excitement for even more adventure and peril he would have become a knight ages ago. It seemed that his life was a never-ending series of unexpected events, each bringing more excitement then the last and he was constantly kept on his toes.

What he was doing now however had to have been the most exhilarating, terrifying thing he had done so far. He was riding a dragon.

"This is amazing," he crowed, punching the air with his fist.

"I am glad you are enjoying the ride," Kilgarrah huffed. "Would you mind not kicking your feet so much? It really is quite irksome."

"Sorry," Gawaine said. "I haven't figured out where to put them yet."

The dragon sighed and Gawaine could almost visualize a reptilian eye roll. Actually, the more he thought about it the more he wondered if this was even a possibility for a dragon.

"Oi," he shouted down at the giant lizard. "Can you roll your eyes?"

"No," Kilgarrah replied drily. "But I will tell you something I can do."

"What's that," Gawaine asked ready to be thoroughly amazed.

"I can eat you."

"Well that was a bit uncalled for, don't you think? I was only trying to make friendly conversation."

"Don't over exert yourself on my account, young knight. I prefer silence to useless prattling if you don't mind."

"You know, for a friend of Merlin's you aren't very friendly."

"The young warlock more than makes up for any lack of camaraderie on my part, young knight. This is an area that I do not feel requires my attention."

Gawaine wasn't entirely sure what to think of his new companion. Of course, he was a dragon and this automatically gave him a giant shove in the right direction, but his demeanor left something to be desired. When Gaius had told him that he was going to meet Kilgarrah and fly to where his best friend and less friendly master would be he had felt both excited and strangely nervous.

Even now he wondered why Gaius had chosen to send him instead of one of the other knights. The obvious choice would have been Leon, but honestly any of them would probably do a better job than he would. After all, he usually spent more time finding trouble for himself than helping others get out of it. Yet Gaius had remained adamant that Gawaine was the right man for the job. The knight had a sneaking suspicion this was because he'd shown the least hesitation in accepting Merlin and his gifts then any of the knight's, but also because of his deep bond with the young man.

Yet the doubt remained. It wasn't that he didn't want to save Merlin's life and the look on Arthur's face as he swooped in and saved the day would be priceless, but this was one mission he couldn't mess up. He'd always been given a certain amount of leeway due to his former rambling ways and his somewhat one sided relationship with ale and mead, but his fellow knight's had always been there to help clean up whatever mess he'd made. Now, however, he was on his own and any mistakes he made might cost the life and sanity of the only person he'd ever really looked up to.

He had tried arguing with Gaius about why he should stay in Camelot. His reasons had ranged from lack of saddle to chafing from riding bareback. The physician had listened with disgruntled patience and provided reasonable counter arguments until Gawaine had made this last point.

"Chafing," Gaius had repeated, raising his eyebrows and quirking his mouth to the side. "Am I to understand that you don't want to go because you might chafe?"

"Hey," he'd replied indignantly though he knew the foolishness of his reasoning. "It is a very serious concern, Gaius. Have you ever been chafed, old man? It is not a pleasant experience and if you get it in the spot where your thighs meet your—"

"Gawaine, as fascinating as your chafing concerns are I really don't think we need to take this conversation any further, do you?"

"Speak for yourself, Gaius. I know the dangers of chafing. There was this one time…I can't really remember when or where, but there was a woman and she did this trick with—"

"Gawaine," Gaius had snapped, finally losing his patience. "You are going and that is the end of it!"

He'd made to open his mouth to continue his story, but shut it with a snap at the look Gaius had sent him. There were some forces in nature a man shouldn't mess with and a worried old man was one of them.

"What should I tell the others," he'd asked, lowering his voice to a whisper in dread of the task that had been set before him.

"Nothing," Gaius had replied. "The queen will be furious that I sent you alone, but I will handle Guinevere. She will see reason in the end. You must go quickly, though, to avoid suspicion."

"I have everything I need right here," the knight replied, patting his pack with an affectionate hand. "But, I really don't think that I am the right one for the job, Gaius. I make too many mistakes and I couldn't stand it if something I did cost Merlin his life."

"That is exactly why you are the right person," Gaius said softly.

"How does that help, exactly?"

"Think hard on it, Gawaine. You will understand."

Gaius had been unwilling to answer any more questions and had merely told him the location where Kilgarrah would be waiting and shooed him off. If his meeting with the old physician had been awkward it paled in comparison to his first encounter with the dragon. They had stared wearily at each other for a long time and neither had said a word. Finally, Gawaine could no longer handle the silence and he said the first thing that popped into his head, which for him, he realized, was probably not the best way to start off a relationship with a creature that could roast him like a suckling pig.

"So," he said, shaking his head to remove the lock of hair from his face. "I heard you are the last dragon. Bet that smarts a bit."

Gawaine sucked in a breath and cursed the words the moment they exited his mouth. Fantastic. He'd insulted a huge, fire-breathing creature and would probably be marveling at the insides of the creature's stomach any moment now, but Kilgarrah only looked at him with mild distaste.

"I am not the last," the dragon said icily, shifting his wings and looking at him like the knight was an annoying fly. "And I would warn you to keep your comments to yourself, young knight. Your opinion has not been asked for nor was it warranted in this situation."

"Gawaine," he'd corrected. "My name is Gawaine. Not young knight."

"You will remain young knight until I choose to call you otherwise," Kilgarrah huffed. "You are neither a friend nor of any real importance to me and until this changes I will call you what I wish to."

"Then what am I doing here," Gawaine had snapped. "If I am not important—"

"You misconstrue my words," Kilgarrah interrupted shaking his giant head. "I said you were of no real importance to me, but you are extremely important to Merlin."

"He's your friend," Gawaine asked.

"Yes, he is my friend and in many ways my brother. I will do whatever is necessary to assist him."

"Well, then we actually have something in common. And here I was thinking we would have nothing to talk about."

And now here he was, hundreds of feet in the air, watching the villages and forests hurtling past far below him. Kilgarrah had told him that they would be resting very little, but Gawaine didn't mind. In fact, he felt that he wouldn't be able to get much sleep anyways. He was too worried for his friend and perhaps a little bit for Arthur as well though he would be the last to admit it.

The dragon had explained Merlin's predicament a little more than Gaius had been able to and had conveyed the severe effects it would have on the young man. The last thing Gawaine wanted to see was his friend in pain and he felt his heart constrict a bit in his chest at the idea of Merlin's suffering. As much as it tortured him to do so, the knight found himself visualizing what was happening to the warlock and he nearly made himself sick. Talking to the dragon was the only way he could keep his mind off of Merlin and so he decided to do so, quite vigorously.

"You know," Gawaine retorted a few seconds after the dragon's last rebuke. "I really feel it is time to move to the next step of our relationship, don't you? It must be tiring to call me young knight all the time. Besides, I am not all that young."

Gawaine was surprised to hear the dragon chuckle.

"You are young," Kilgarrah said. "I have lived hundreds of years and you have barely scratched the surface of thirty. You will always be young to me."

"Alright," Gawaine had continued, relentless. "I am young, but instead of calling me young knight why don't you call me brave knight or extremely comely knight or the knight of the flowing dark hair? Surely someone of your age can come up with something more poetic than young knight."

"You have convinced me," the dragon replied sagely. "I will no longer call you young knight. From now on, I will call you vexing knight. Or perhaps you would prefer pestering knight."

"I don't really think either suits me. You will have to do better than that."

"I think airborne knight fits you rather nicely at the moment."

Gawaine had shut his mouth after that. Well, he shut it for about five minutes, but honestly, it was ridiculous to expect him to keep quiet for long. The Princess had issued all manner of threats to get him to silence himself, but so far nothing had worked. Of course, this was partly because Gawaine liked nothing more than to annoy the king any chance he was given, which, surprisingly occurred quite often. The king opened himself up rather nicely for scathing comments and witty one-liners issued at Arthur's expense. He and Merlin had even made a game out of who could turn Arthur's ears red the fastest. Merlin was usually the victor in such games, but Gawaine couldn't begrudge him that. The man could be quite condescending if he wanted to and as long as it was pointed towards Arthur Gawaine was more than happy to take part.

The thought of Arthur and Merlin together brought up Gawaine's initial concerns back to the front of his mind. Arthur had a temper that could put a rabid badger to shame and betrayal did nothing to soften it. He hoped that the king's oddly dependent relationship with his servant would help Arthur control whatever anger was simmering, but as much as wanted to be sure of Arthur's leniency, he couldn't.

"Kilgarrah," Gawaine said, making his voice soft and serious so the dragon didn't throw him off. "Was Arthur angry?"

"If he was he didn't show it," the dragon answered. "In fact, I would say he was the exact opposite. He seemed incredibly worried about Merlin's fate."

"That is good," Gawaine said, but he still felt doubt curling in his stomach. "What about these tasks they have to face? You said that they wouldn't have to kill anything, right? That it would merely be an emotional test of worthiness?"

"That is correct," the dragon replied. "Something is on your mind, young knight. What is it?"

"Well," Gawaine said slowly, hoping he didn't sound like a complete fool. "Is it possible that something could test Arthur's acceptance of Merlin's magic?"

"Yes, it is possible. Almost inevitable in fact."

"How so?"

"The tests are all based on the same basic principles, young knight, but they change form depending on the person attempting to pass them. They are meant to bring difficult and often times violent issues to the surface. To pass one must defeat their feelings of anger, betrayal, sorrow, guilt or whatever emotion is being fed upon"

"So it is possible that Arthur might have done something to Merlin? I mean, even if he was taking all this in stride Arthur still must be reeling from it. He doesn't handle things like this very well. It's only because it is Merlin that he's doing it at all."

"Yes, King Arthur could have been defeated by his feelings of betrayal but it is equally as possible that Merlin lost to his emotions and harmed the young king."

"What," Gawaine blurted, shocked. "That isn't right. Merlin would never do something like that."

"Perhaps not when in his right mind," the dragon admonished gently. "But the young warlock is not in his right mind, is he? He is dealing with a great amount of pain and a part of his subconscious believes that Arthur is the cause of it."

"Why would he think that," Gawaine asked. "Surely if Arthur has been as accepting and concerned as you say Merlin would know that Arthur wasn't hurting him."

"Arthur is hurting him," Kilgarrah said gently. "Or something that is making itself look like Arthur. The darkness within Merlin comes from a place that uses manipulation as much as physical pain to break their hosts, Sir Gawaine. It will take the form of those the victim cares for or respects the most and use them to inflict pain and self-loathing upon those they feed on. Merlin is no exception to this. If young warlock falls to the powers inside him, it will be a replication of Arthur that pushes him over the edge. That is, of course, if they make it that far."

"Explain," Gawaine said shortly, barely realizing that he'd been called by his proper title.

"It is very possible that Merlin could confuse the two Arthur's in his head. Paranoia is common in cases such as this and the pairs unique relationship would only serve to exasperate such feelings even more. Arthur is in more danger from Merlin than the young warlock is from Arthur. If Arthur chose to attack Merlin would be able to defend himself, at least long enough for the king to come to his senses. However, if Merlin attacked Arthur there would be little the king could do to stop him."

"Are you saying that Merlin could have killed Arthur," Gawaine gasped.

"It is one of many possibilities," the dragon replied. "But yes, Merlin could have killed Arthur and the regret of such an act would drive him to madness. He would not last long under those circumstances."

"But surely they are past the tests by now, right?"

"Perhaps, but there is no real way of knowing. Time passes differently beyond the mists."

"So Merlin could just go apocalyptic on us at any moment?"

"That is a correct summary of the situation."

"God," Gawaine whispered, his stomach clenching with worry. "I never thought I would say this, but I seriously hope Arthur is alright."

"Try not to think on the chances," the dragon told him gently. "As of right now there is little we can do to change the tides of fate. That duty lies with Arthur and Merlin alone."

"That is what worries me," Gawaine replied. "Those two have a horrible track record of finding themselves in trouble."

"Fate is a peculiar thing," Kilgarrah said. "In fact, it is not unlike a game of chance. A roll of the dice is made and based on the outcomes a decision is born, but the tiniest of variables can alter the fall of the dice, Sir Gawaine. The fate of Arthur and Merlin works much the same way. They have rolled the dice and now it is up to them to shift where they fall."

"A wonderful analogy to be sure," Gawaine muttered. "But there is one little detail you are leaving out."

"What might that be, young knight?"

"Arthur is horrible at games of chance," he replied, grimacing. "And Merlin is not much better."


	27. The Warlock Survival Guide: 1st Edition

**Author's Note: **_Here goes the second chapter for the evening. Consider it my apology for not writing faster. I will warn you right meow….this chapter will be a little dark so I apologize in advance. Stay with me though. I promise it gets better for our boys. Remember to review because they make me happy and I need them for the story. It's alright…you can say it…I am a review addict._

Merlin was drifting. Of course, he wasn't entirely sure this was a bad thing. The pain had faded, not considerably, but enough that he could maintain control of his thought patterns instead of them being viciously ripped away with every white- hot throb of agony.

The woman's presence had been of some help. He had been surprised to feel her thoughts tangled with his own and he had used her compassion and kindness as an anchor in which to draw strength from. He had spoken to her, even while dueling with the darkness, and found her voice a soothing remedy to the terror that had overtake him. Of course, in the end, even that had failed him.

The battle had not gone well for him, though he had fought with the desperation and cruelty of a man with nothing left to lose. He'd been ruthlessly hammered until his defenses had crumbled and he was left to face the thing inside him alone; the thing that pretended to be Arthur. Or perhaps it really was Arthur, after all. Merlin could hardly tell the difference anymore.

He had tried, of course. Even as the imposter had ripped into him over and over again on the tiny table of torture he had fought desperately to keep the two different entities separated in his mind, but found that as the pain grew so did his uncertainty. Arthur would never hurt him like this and he repeated it like a mantra but, just like any other thoughts he attempted to retain, it was quickly wiped away by his screams.

"Think about how easy it would be," the imposter Arthur taunted, rubbing the knife he carried across Merlin's cheek. "You could give up and all of this could end. I could give you power, Merlin."

"You aren't real," Merlin croaked, shutting his eyes against the sight of his friend smiling down at him, cruelty marring his normally handsome features.

"Merlin," the imposter chastised. "You should have realized by now that I am very real. I can prove it to you, if you like. I think that I would enjoy that."

"No," Merlin rasped, fear exploding in his chest. "Please don't—"

The rest of his words were lost in an agonizing scream as Arthur pushed the blade deep into his flesh, cutting through muscle and bone and perhaps even his soul.

"Is that real enough for you," Arthur hissed coldly, jerking the knife from Merlin's side.

There was no blood, but then Merlin had not expected there to be. After all, this was his mind and while the pain was very real the wounds being inflicted were not. The lack of blood did little to comfort him, however. Perhaps he could have attempted to maintain his optimistic attitude and tell himself that the lack of blood at least allowed him to pretend that the wounds hadn't really occurred, but he was far beyond optimism now. It was all he could do to hold on.

"Do you like stories, Merlin?" Arthur whispered in his ear, twirling the blade dexterously with his fingers. "I suppose it doesn't really matter because I am going to tell you one whether you like it or not."

"Once upon a time there lived a foolish warlock who believed he was more powerful than I. I really hate fools, don't you? And though this warlock fought and screamed he was no match for my power. He could have made it so much easier on himself, but he chose to sacrifice himself for a man who loathes him and friends who would abandon him the moment they discovered what he really was. I would have allowed his friends to live…for awhile at least, but he chose to ignore my leniency. Now, I know I really shouldn't give away the ending, but I can't help myself. I made him kill them, Merlin. All of them and do you know what? He rather enjoyed it."

"Would…you mind…not speaking….so….loudly," Merlin gasped. "You are giving…me an…awful headache."

He knew he shouldn't have said anything, but sometimes it helped clear his mind, though inevitably it only brought more pain. This time was no different than any other and Merlin made a harsh sound in his throat as Arthur's fingers clamped down around his windpipe.

"That was rude," Arthur snarled, lifting Merlin's head and bringing it crashing back to the table again. "I don't like to be interrupted."

The Arthur imposter squeezed harder and the pressure behind Merlin's eyes built until it was nearly unbearable. He squirmed on the table, attempting to get from underneath his friend's crushing hands, before he remembered that Arthur liked to see him struggle. It only made the experience more enjoyable, or so the man had told him. He stopped moving and lay limply on the table until Arthur grew bored with him.

"You take the fun out of everything, Merlin. Why must you be so difficult? After all, we were friends once, weren't we?"

"You aren't Arthur," he whispered, closing his eyes against his friend's cold smile and cruel eyes.

"Perhaps you are right," the imposter whispered in his ear. "Perhaps I am not Arthur."

Merlin froze. The thing's voice had changed, softening until it held the graceful lilt of a woman's. He recognized it instantly and horror swept through him like a poison.

"No," he moaned, keeping his eyes shut tight. "Not her. Please not her."

"Why not," his mother asked, her voice sending shivers up Merlin's spine. "Don't you think I should get a little time with you? I want to repay you for the hell you put me through."

The knife sunk deep and Merlin convulsed as pain overtook him. He cried out, cursing though he knew his screams fell on deaf ears.

"Look at me Merlin," his mother commanded. "Look me in the eye when I am talking to you."

"No," he groaned. "I can't!"

"You can and you will. Look at me or I will force you to do it."

Merlin opened his eyes and stared horrified at his mother's image. She looked just like his mother, but was cool where his mother was warm, cruel where his mother was gentle.

"I want you to see what I'm going to do to you," she hissed before ripping him open again.

He wasn't sure when his mother had gotten tired of using him as a pincushion but when Merlin came back to himself the imposter was nowhere to be found. He groaned and tried to move, but couldn't and didn't know whether it was from his own weakness or from something the darkness had done. He didn't know which one he would prefer and decided not to waste his thoughts on it. Either way he was stuck. His whole body throbbed and Merlin went away again.

This time when he came back the imposter was back, once more disguised as Arthur and Merlin whimpered, attempting to move as far away from the darkness as he could. Strangely, the imposter simply gaped at him, mouth open, eyes wide in what could only be horror. It did not move for a long time and when it did it was so sudden that Merlin cried out, startled, raising his hands to offer what little defense they could give him.

Yet no blows came and Merlin was stupefied. What game was fake Arthur playing with him? It was certainly a new tactic and Merlin was terrified at what this could mean to him. He lowered his hands and found Arthur frozen a few feet from the table, concern and anger battling for dominance in his eyes.

"Merlin," the imposter whispered tentatively. "Merlin, are you with me? I will kill it for what it's done to you. I swear."

"This is…low…even for…you," Merlin gasped, humorless laughter escaping him.

"What," fake Arthur asked, perplexed. "Merlin, I don't—"

"Stop it," the warlock shouted. "You aren't him!"

Fake Arthur looked at him with such sorrow that for a moment Merlin actually believed that maybe, just maybe it really was Arthur, but he knew better. He had to know better because if he didn't, if he allowed himself to hope for even one second, all would be lost.

The abomination crept closer, hands up in a pacifying gesture, but Merlin pushed himself as far from the king as he could go and was surprised when he suddenly dropped off the side of the table and onto the cracked, broken floor of his mind. He let out an involuntary grunt of agony and curled in on himself, rocking back in forth in an effort to control his breathing.

He felt gentle hands on his back and someone was calling his name. Who could that be, he wondered. Oh, it's Arthur. Wait, not Arthur, fake Arthur. He jerked back and away from the probing hands and found himself face to face with the imposter.

"Don't touch me," he spat, trying to scoot himself farther from his king, but only managing a broken crawl across the floor. "You aren't real."

"Merlin," fake Arthur said in an agonized voice. "Merlin, please, it's me. It's Arthur."

"You can't be," the warlock shouted. "This is a trick…a way to hurt…a way to make me think that….no, you aren't real!"

"How can I prove that it's me," fake Arthur implored. "Please, tell me what I can do."

"You can stay away from me," Merlin hissed, looking at his friend with hatred and revulsion. The look pierced Arthur's heart and he felt like the breath had been stolen from him.

"Alright," the imposter croaked. " We can just talk, okay? I will sit right here and you can stay where you are. I just want to help you, Merlin. You're my friend, remember? My brother? Let me help you."

For the first time Merlin felt uncertainty nagging at him. This Arthur looked different, of course. The cruelty was gone from his eyes and his mouth wasn't quirked in a snake's cold-blooded smile. The young man didn't have the strangely graceful, aggressive way of moving that the imposter did either. Yet uncertainty was not enough for him to believe that Arthur was really there with him. It was a trick. It had to be a trick.

"You are lying," Merlin said softly. "You must be."

"No," imposter Arthur replied quietly. "I swear it, Merlin. What can I do to prove it to you?"

"Nothing," Merlin answered, horrified at the hysterical laughter that had began to work it's way up into his throat. "Everything I know it knows."

The laughter escaped him then and Merlin's horror was a perfect match to the similar expression on fake Arthur's face. He couldn't stop and his sides began to ache, but it felt so good to let something out. Even if hadn't been what he expected he felt relieved that he could work some of the tension out. When he was finally able to control himself exhaustion had taken first place in his addled brain.

Fake Arthur had moved closer during his bout of laughter and now sat on his haunches mere inches away from him. Merlin couldn't find the strength to move and he finally let despair get the better of him.

"I'm done," he whispered to the fake Arthur. "You win. I can't do it anymore. I just want to rest. You can do whatever you want, but please let me rest."

"No," fake Arthur gasped, rushing to his side and lifting his friend so that his head rested lightly against the king's chest. "Don't you dare give up, Merlin. You can't give up on me now."

This certainly got Merlin's attention. He had expected jubilation from the darkness and if not that then at least a gloating session of some kind. What he had not expected was for the imposter to plead with him to fight longer. He forced himself to open his eyes and stare wearily at the young man's face. It took him a long moment, but he could see the truth in his friend's eyes. This was really Arthur.

"Arthur," he breathed, a small smile gracing his lips. "Welcome to the party, sire. It's been rather dull without you."

His king closed his eyes in relief and Merlin watched as Arthur attempted to get his emotions under control. His friend's grip had tightened on his side considerably and Merlin gasped when his fingers slipped and dug into his wounded flesh. Arthur jerked his hands back as if he'd been scalded and stared at Merlin in horror.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "Merlin, I didn't mean to—"

"Arthur," Merlin interrupted, pain making his voice thready. "I don't mean to be rude sire, but shut up."

The look on Arthur's face nearly made Merlin chuckle but he decided to squelch it down lest he bring more pain on himself than was absolutely necessary.

"How did you get here," Merlin asked instead, attempting to swallow past the bruises in his throat.

"Awen," the young man replied, shifting slightly so he could inspect his friend more closely. "She did a spell of some sort. I had to eat your hair, Merlin."

"Oh, I wish I had been there to see that," Merlin grinned weakly. "Do you think you could make a repeat performance?"

"How do you do this," Arthur asked, amazed.

"What?"

"How do you joke around like nothing has happened? Have you seen yourself, Merlin?"

"I'd prefer to stay far away from mirrors at the moment," Merlin replied drily. "And as far as my feeble sense of humor is concerned it is how I deal with stress, sire. Everyone has a different way of handling it. You normally turn into a bigger prat than usual and boss everyone around. Who is Awen?"

"Amusing Merlin," Arthur commented. "I will have to remember to keep you right by my side the next time I feel stress."

"I won't have to make many changes to my schedule then. Don't get so sidetracked sire. I asked you a question."

"What?"

"Who is Awen? Honestly, Arthur if you listened better you might not find yourself in such perilous situations."

"Awen is a fair folk healer, Merlin," Arthur replied, refusing to rise to Merlin's comment. I thought you would have known that. She certainly knows you."

"The woman," Merlin breathed, glad he could put a name to the soothing, supporting voice. "I like her."

"Oh, the feeling is mutual, Merlin," Arthur replied cryptically and when Merlin lifted his head he could see his king was smiling.

"Why do you say it like that," he asked.

"You'll see. Now, isn't really the time to discuss it though we will be doing so in length when you get out of this mess. It's about time you got a girl, Merlin. Honestly, it's no wonder you are so bent out of shape all the time. You need to be more recreational."

"Arthur," Merlin whispered. "It concerns me that you use the word woman and recreational in the same sentence."

"That isn't what I meant," Arthur snapped, his ears coloring.

"Ha," Merlin smiled slightly. "That's one for me and zero for Gawaine."

"What?"

"Nothing," Merlin sighed. "Oblivious King Arthur, that's you."

"Merlin," Arthur snapped. "As fascinating as your senseless jabbering is don't you think we should be figuring out a way to keep you off of that table?"

"Don't you have a plan," Merlin asked. "I mean, I know I'm the brilliant one but even you couldn't be so stupid as to come in here and not have a plan."

"Er," Arthur said and he could almost feel the warlock roll his eyes.

"You don't have any idea what you are going to do, do you sire?"

"Not exactly," the young man replied. "But I am sure I can think of something."

"Oh, please do," a cruel, cold voice laughed. "I would love to watch you fail, King Arthur. You got away the first time, but I won't make it so easy on you now."

Both Arthur and Merlin jerked their heads around to stare at the terrifying replica of Guinevere. Merlin stiffened and tried to burrow his way into Arthur's chest and out the other side, but calmed when Arthur squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"It's alright," Arthur whispered into his friend's ear. "I won't let it hurt you, Merlin."

"Don't take offense to this, sire, but I'm not holding my breath. You're the one who came in here without a plan, remember? It has a plan. You don't have a plan. Maybe it's just me but I sense there is an advantage in there somewhere."

Arthur ignored his friend and gently lowered him to the horrible cracked earth before rising and facing the ghostly replica of his wife. His eyes were cold and Merlin watched as his friend switched from Arthur the beloved king to Arthur the remorseless warrior. He'd seen it a million times before, but it never ceased to unnerve him. He was glad Arthur had accepted him for his magic. To have those calculating eyes turned on him would be the death of him.

Of course, it only made the darkness laugh and Merlin could see his king flinch slightly before the mask was back in place. Fake Guinevere walked slowly towards Arthur, hips rolling seductively, lips set in a pout.

"Arthur," she purred, running a slim finger down his chest when she reached him. "Don't you want me anymore?"

"Get back," Arthur snarled, drawing his sword.

He raised it above his head and swung it downwards again but was surprised when it was nearly ripped out of his hand.

"No," fake Gwen hissed. "I don't think so."

Her slim fingers were wrapped around the blade and before Arthur could even blink she was gripping his hand crushing it against the hilt of his sword. He felt his fingers pop and cried out when a bone in his hand cracked. His fingers all went numb at once and the sword dropped into the darkness's slender palm. He pulled his broken, useless hand against his side, hissing when the bones shifted.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, trying to sit up. "Arthur, get out of here."

"Quiet Merlin," he spat, watching with cautious eyes as fake Gwen twirled the sword expertly in her hand.

"You should listen to your king, Merlin. Arthur and I have a lot to talk about. I'll be with you in a moment."

"Arthur, no!"

"I said hush, Merlin. I've got this."

Merlin watched horrified as fake Gwen circled his friend like a hawk searching for its next meal. He was waiting for her to shove the sword through Arthur's heart or slit his throat and he knew that the moment this occurred the battle really would be over. He tensed when she suddenly moved towards him, but he hadn't quite expected her to pull Arthur's face towards her own and kiss him rather passionately.

It seemed that move took Arthur by surprise as well because, well, it looked to Merlin like his friend was not only kissing her back but was doing so with some enthusiasm. The warlock's mouth dropped open comically and he was completely confused until he noticed the same black lines that covered his body slowly creeping up Arthur's cheeks and down his throat. His king seemed to sag into Guinevere as if he was losing the strength to stand up on his own. He stiffened when he realized what was occurring.

"Arthur," he shouted, desperately trying to find the strength to push himself to his feet. "Stop! She's killing you, sire! Stop!"

The king wasn't stopping and as the kiss grew more passionate Merlin could see Arthur's eyes fluttering and his good hand tighten on fake Gwen's shoulders as if he was trying to pull back but couldn't.

"Not Arthur," Merlin snarled and somehow managed to launch to his feet and run full force into his king.

Arthur let out a shocked grunt when he hit the ground and another when Merlin fell on top of him. It took the king a long moment to catch his breath and he felt like he was much older than he actually was.

From the looks of it, his servant was faring no better for he had made no move to get off of him. The fake Guinevere was staring impassively at them, as if waiting for them to make a move. Arthur gently rolled his friend over onto his back and was concerned to find his friend unconscious.

"I'll kill you for that," he snarled, turning his attention back to the delectable looking creature masquerading as his wife.

"Oh, I would love for you to try," the darkness laughed, a mocking smile marring her lips. "Tell me, Arthur, would you like to play a game?"


	28. Wax On, Wax Off: An Inspirational Tale

**Author's Note: **_Hello to all from Brooklyn, NY where it is currently three a.m. Yes, I am aware about how late, or early depending on your point of view, that is, but I work late nights so this is the time for my creativity to shine. I am very sorry for the upload delay, but am not sorry for the cliffhanger I left for you all at the end of my last chapter. Unfortunately, we will not be getting back to Merlin and Arthur for at least one chapter if not two, but I promise to make it worth the wait. Anyways, here is chapter 28. Oh, and I promise to explain why Gawaine is needed. So, deuces folks and I will see you all soon! As always, please review and let me know your thoughts. They are always inspirational._

Awen could feel her power humming just beneath the surface of her skin. It wanted desperately to be free of her and complete it's singular duty, but some inner part of her was holding it back.

Nan had always told her that the key ingredient to any inner conflict was self-doubt. Was this what was causing her ineptitude? Did some part of her subconscious actually believe that she would fail? Awen would have liked to deny such an accusation, but when it was her own mind acting as the accuser it was rather difficult to find any logical arguments in which to stand upon. How was she going to save anyone let alone everyone if she didn't believe she could do it?

She could feel the seconds ticking by and knew that time was running out, but instead of motivating her it did nothing but add to her frustration. She had been practicing for hours and hadn't even had a glimmer of success. Perhaps, if she hadn't failed on so many occasions before this moment she would be able to push aside her insecurities, but each defeat left a larger gap for her to bridge.

Her mother Vala, a powerful healer herself, should have been the one to teach her the Way of the Blessed, but she was gone and Awen was left to undergo her training on her own. Vala had not been merely respected by her people, but had been loved and adored as well. She was everything to Awen and when she had suddenly died from some unknown ailment, Awen had been crushed. She had believed, as all children do, that her mother was invincible and for fate to cruelly teach her otherwise had led to a loss of Awen's childish belief that nothing could be taken from her.

After Vala's unexpectd passing, Awen had suddenly felt responsible for all the lives of her people, though she was only a child. She'd wanted desperately to be as great as her mother had been and had practiced everyday, but with the yearning came the doubts. What if she wasn't good enough? What if she shamed her mother's memory by soiling the gifts she'd been given? How could she ever life with herself after such a defeat? Her concerns locked her powers up tight and refused to release their hold on her. She had found it easier, especially within the last few cycles of her life to simply deny her birthright and pretend that she didn't want what was rightfully hers.

Now, however, there was more on the line than ever before. Yes, she cared for Merlin with all her heart, as odd and unexpected that affection had been, but her duty was to more than him. If she failed, there would be only two choices left to them. Either they could allow the darkness that overtook Merlin roam free into the world and destroy everything in its path or Arthur would have to kill him. Awen didn't know if she could bare watching the young king run his oldest friend through with his sword and doubted if she would even be able to let the man go through with it. She also knew that Arthur would be devastated and his grief would leave his kingdom weak and vulnerable. It would not take long for someone to take advantage of such an opportunity and Awen sensed that the death of Camelot would have dire consequences of its own, though she had no idea what they could be.

In the end, Awen didn't really have a choice, but this knowledge didn't help her get any farther in her attempts. She threw back her head and cried out in frustration, tugging at her hair, and kicking the dying plant in front of her as if it was the herb causing all her troubles.

"Just sprout back up again," she yelled at the plant, kicking it again in case it hadn't received the message the first time.

She realized how ridiculous she must look and was grateful that none of her people had decided to watch her work as they often did. She would never hear the end of it. She felt her cheeks color and looked around nervously just to make sure she didn't have an unwanted audience.

Awen knew that her mother was the key to unlocking her gifts. After all, all of Awen's self-doubt stemmed from believing that would bring shame to her mother's reputation and by doing so would make Vala ashamed of her daughter. Perhaps this was a ridiculous notion, but children are often unrealistic when it comes to the expectations of their parents.

She had never talked about her mother after her death. Nan had tried breaching the subject with her on many occasions and would attempt to tell her granddaughter tales of her mother's childhood, but Awen would have none of it. Any mention of Vala had left Awen feeling raw and vulnerable and this was not a feeling she allowed herself to indulge in.

Now, however, Awen had a sinking feeling that for her to control her gifts she would have to face her fears and talk about the woman that had meant everything to her. Nan would be thrilled, of course. Her grandmother wasn't actually Vala's mother, but had taken over her care when her sister, Vala's true mother, had disappeared without a trace when Vala was only a baby. It was rumored that the woman had wandered into the lands beyond the mist and had not been able to find her way back again, but whatever the story was it ended the same. Nan was given a daughter.

Awen sighed and picked herself up from the tiny nook she had created for herself within the untamed forests of Eryr Cadw, as a place to practice her magic. Her little space was rarely used for its intended purpose, but it offered her a place of solitude and peace, at least when she wasn't being observed by her nosy neighbors.

"I'm coming back for you little plant," she warned ominously. "And when I do you better be prepared for the biggest adrenaline rush of your life."

She wasn't in the habit of talking to plants, but sometimes it made her feel better. She dashed back to her grandmother's tiny hut, expertly dodging and jumping over any obstacles the forest tried to put in her way. The trees were rather mischievous and one could rarely count on them to stay exactly as they had been the day previous, but Awen knew of their antics and was easily able to navigate her way through them.

She arrived, panting slightly, back at her Nan's wooden door and pushed her way through it to find her Nan already waiting for her.

"I had a feeling you would be joining me shortly," she said with a knowing smile and patted the chair sitting across from her. "Come sit and tell me what is on your mind, dear one."

"I need to talk to you," Awen panted. "About my mother. I think I am ready to hear what you have to say."

"This is good," Nan replied, heaving herself from her chair with a pained creak in her knees. "Although, I must say this conversation is long overdo. I did not want to push you, but I was honestly considering tying you to the chair and forcing you to listen."

Awen smiled, watching as her grandmother grabbed a kettle that had been simmering over the hearth flame. After pulling two small and weathered bowls from her tiny cupboard she proceeded to pour each of them a fair amount of steaming broth.

"Eat this," Nan ordered, handing her the bowl and a spoon. "I've found that talking about difficult things is always easier when you have good food to eat while you do it. Besides, it gives you something to throw if the person you are talking to says something offensive."

"Please don't tell me that you know this from experience, Nan."

"How do you think your grandfather and I met," Nan sniffed. "He got fresh with me and received a bowl of soup in the face for his efforts. He fell in love with me right than and there."

"Forgive me if I don't follow your example in love," Awen laughed, before glancing over at Merlin.

His face was sheet white and marred by the hideous black lines that spread across his body. He was shivering slightly and his eyes flickered restlessly beneath his lids, hands bunching into fists and pulling on the thin blanket that covered him. Arthur didn't look much better and Awen felt bile rising in her throat when she noticed that similar black lines crossed over one side of his jaw and down across his throat. He to was pale, but he, unlike his friend, was completely still.

"He looks dead," Awen whispered, shivering slightly. "I knew what could happen, but it doesn't make it any easier to see."

"Those in pain are never a pleasant sight," Nan whispered. "It is why your gift is so precious. You have the ability to end their pain, Awen. Can't you see the beauty in that?"

"Of course I can," Awen sighed, turning her attention away from the two men and back to her grandmother. "But, it isn't that simple, Nan."

"Nothing in life is simple," Nan cackled. "There is a reason we dream of an afterlife filled with wonder and peace, child. It is the exact opposite of what we have. But there is great folly in this way of thinking."

"How so?"

"Without one, how can you truly appreciate the other? What is peace if you have never known war? What is triumph if you have never known defeat? What is joy if you have never known sorrow? Without bad things we can never truly understand the beauty of good things, Awen."

"This doesn't help me at all," Awen snapped, frustration threatening to boil over.

"I think you will find it does if you only think on it," Nan replied. "The problem with your generation is that you expect all the answers to be handed to you."

"Nan, as usual I find your elderly grumblings fascinating, but can we put the problems of my generation on hold for a bit?"

"Awen," Nan scolded. "Think, child. There is no one on this green earth that has not felt the cold plunge of fear at the thought of being inadequate. Everyone makes mistakes, Awen. Even your mother."

Awen felt the familiar pain open tears up in her heart and she had to shut her eyes as the feelings threatened to sweep her away. Suddenly, her grandmother's soft hands were on her cheeks and the old woman tenderly kissed her brow.

"I know it is painful, child," Nan said softly. "Death always is, but running from it will never make it any less final. We all have our time in this world, Awen. It is not how much we are given that is important. It is what we do with the amount we have and your mother lived by this principle."

"Sometimes I feel like if I talk about her and move on I will start to forget her," Awen whispered, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. She wiped her hand quickly across her face lest her grandmother see them fall.

"Impossible," Nan scoffed and Awen was surprised at her tone. "Let me tell you a little something about memory, child. As with everything in this world, it comes with strings and we are given the knowledge that one day we will forget things that are important and things that are less so. This alone would be a troubling thought, but fate, in an unusual fit of compassion, decided to leave us with the memory of those we love best. Perhaps our memories of them fade as years go by, but we never truly lose them."

"What if I shame who she was," Awen whispered painfully, her true fears finally breaching the surface, bearing themselves for all the world to see. "What if I can't be like her and—"

"That is your first mistake, dear one. You will never be your mother, Awen. Our jobs as parents is to teach our children to blaze their own trail in this world. We are never meant to be like our parents, not completely. We take what is best in them and add it to what is best in ourselves, but our faults are our own as are our strengths. You have made mistakes, but everyone does. Your mother made more than most."

"What," Awen asked, surprised. "But everyone loved her, Nan. They respected her."

"Of course they did, Awen. People within this world naturally seek acceptance from those among them that have faced trials and conquered them. Your mother had doubts as well, child. Perhaps even greater than yours, but her victory came when she refused to be shaped by them."

"How," Awen croaked. "How do I believe otherwise?"

"By accepting that you are not your mother and that you never will be your mother," Nan said quietly, stirring her spoon around in her soup bowl. "By knowing, truly knowing that you are capable of great things and that your mother believed in you with all her heart. There is nothing you could do that would lessen Vala's love for you. Let her love be your strength, Awen not your weakness."

"What if I can't do this, Nan," Awen whispered, tears falling unchecked down her cheeks.

Nan stared at her for a long moment then tenderly wiped the tears from her granddaughter's face.

"Do you honestly believe that," Nan said. "Or is it your fear speaking for you?"

"Does it matter," Awen snapped. "The result is the same."

"Don't be foolish," Nan replied waspishly. "If you honestly believe that you cannot save them then give up now, girl. I'll wake Arthur from his dream sleep and you can explain to him why he'll have to slaughter his friend. But, if it is fear keeping you from achieving what must be done then recognize it for what it is, Awen. That is half the battle, you know."

"I'm afraid," Awen whispered. "Nan, I'm terrified. How could I ever forgive myself if I couldn't save them?"

"What is bravery without first knowing fear," her Nan asked quietly, staring at her granddaughter with a wise smile on her face.

Awen stayed silent for a long time, refusing to look at her grandmother, instead settling on Merlin and Arthur as her focus point. She was beginning to understand what Nan had meant at the beginning of their conversation and she found herself thinking that Nan was far wiser than she let on.

Her doubts came from the fear of never living up to her mother's expectations, but Nan had informed her that Vala had also been afraid. Surely, she could overcome her own terror in order to accomplish the destiny set out for her. After all, she was not her mother and she found that the idea did not leave her sick as it had before. Why couldn't she follow her own path? If she were honest with herself she had already been doing so for many cycles, but hadn't been willing to admit it to anyone, least of all herself. Perhaps even the pressure she had felt from her own people had been a figment of her self-imposed fears and they had never wanted her to be anything other than what she was. They had supported her and nurtured her, but Awen had misread their intentions and had only fed her already raging doubts.

"Nan," she finally whispered, turning her attention back to her grandmother. "I'm afraid, but I think—no, I know—that fear is needed to be great at anything. It isn't a weakness as everyone says it is, is it? Fear is really a strength because we can use it to give us power."

"Child," Nan replied, smiling. "You are well on your way to becoming as wise as I am."

"That means a lot Nan," Awen responded, pride threatening to overwhelm her.

"But don't get too ahead of yourself," Nan warned, her expression mockingly serious. "You still have a long way to go before you can pull words from your nether end as I can. It is an art form, Awen, and one that should be appreciated for its brilliance on regular occasion."

Awen laughed and shook her head in fond exasperation.

"In some ways you are still a child, grandmother."

"Yes, but I've earned the right to do as I wish. That is the one good thing about age, my dear. You can fart and burp and generally raise hell whenever you like and nobody can say a damn thing to you because you're old."

"I look forward to the day I can pass gas freely, Nan," Awen said, laughing. "But for now I think I will stick with the pressing matters at hand."

"A good choice," Nan said, smiling affectionately at her granddaughter. "And remember Awen, no matter what you do I will always be proud of you. As I know your mother is proud of you."

"Thanks, Nan," Awen whispered.

She went to the beds of the two boys and leaned over before softly kissing Merlin's brow and grasping his hand.

"I'm coming Merlin," she whispered. "Do you hear me? I'm coming to rescue you both."

She turned away and quietly shut the door behind her. As she made her way back to her practice nook she felt a new resolve coursing through her. Her magic was all but boiling in her blood and she found that she couldn't walk, but had to run as fast as she could possibly go.

"I'm sorry for being so rude, little plant," she whispered, touching it's withered leaves. "I really hope you can forgive me."

Awen smiled at her own absurdity then closed her eyes and concentrated on turning her fear into power. An image of her mother floated to the top of her mind and instead of feeling inadequate, as she had before, she felt loved and cherished. Her mother was proud of her. Her mother loved her.

"Golau Iachau ddechrau eich newidiadau," she said, her voice powerful and rich as the Old Tongue flowed easily from her lips. " Ewch oddi wrthyf a rhannu fy nerth gyda rhai sydd mewn angen."

She felt a giant rush of power, unlike anything she had experienced before and when she opened her eyes she was met with the vibrant green of a healthy plant.


	29. Gory, Gory What A Hell of A Way to Die

**Author's Note: **_Good evening/morning/whatever greeting works best for the time zone you are in! I am so excited to get to this chapter and I hope it is all you guys want it to be. Of course, let me know if it is or isn't. Also, I would like to dedicate this chapter to some of my most faithful reviewers/readers: __**Spangley Pony, readernurse, Starburst, Alaia Skyhawk, and RavenclawMerlinFan. **__You have all been incredible and I really appreciate that you have stuck with me and reviewed so regularly. I freaking adore you all and you have been so helpful in giving me motivation and feedback. _

This was it. This was the moment Arthur Pendragon was going to die. He knew this fact instinctually, just as certain animals could sense disaster before it strikes. He was out of time and out of options and the only road left to him was to fight.

Of course, Arthur was sickened less by the prospect of dying and more by the way death had decided to take him. He had always imagined going out in a blaze of glory. Perhaps he would die slaying a vicious magical beast, though with recent revelations in mind he might have to reconsider what constituted as vicious in his mind's magical menagerie. His death would go down in history as something glorious and heroic. He had never expected to die trapped within his best friend's mind, and though the action was heroic it certainly wasn't glorious.

"Something on your mind," the darkness taunted and Arthur was immediately brought back to earth.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. "It's just…you are so boring that I daydreamed. Please…continue."

"Ah, sarcasm and wit," the imposter chuckled. "Tell me, does it make you feel like a man, Arthur? Do you feel braver than you did before?"

Arthur chose to remain silent which only brought the darkness's smile higher on its lips. It suddenly shifted and Arthur was no longer staring at his wife, but his father, as cold and regal as ever.

"I asked if you wanted to play a game," it whispered dangerously. "It is very rude not to answer a question when it is asked, Arthur. I may have to teach you a lesson."

"Just try it," Arthur snapped, but the darkness shook its head.

"Tsk, Tsk," it sighed. "Exactly how arrogant are you, King Arthur? You automatically assume I mean you."

This answer brought Arthur up short and he studied the abomination in front of him, but the darkness gave up nothing.

"What do you mean," Arthur asked, hating that he was even still talking to the damn thing. If only he had his sword, but his precious blade was still locked firmly in the imposter's grip.

"Merlin would be a much better motivation for you to learn manners, don't you think?"

"You wouldn't dare," Arthur rasped, paling as he risked a glance over at his unconscious manservant.

How odd, he thought. What exactly did it mean to be knocked unconscious while you are already unconscious? Did it somehow imply death? Arthur grew queasy at the thought and found himself wishing more fervently that his friend would open his eyes and say something, even if that something were at his expense. Hell, especially if it was at his expense. Merlin could insult the king out of whatever funk he found himself in better than anyone he knew.

Suddenly, Arthur howled with pain as the blunt handle of his sword connected squarely with his shoulder. The limb instantly went numb and for a moment the king thought he'd lost the use of both arms, but was relieved to discover it was the same arm that connected to his already broken hand. He hissed in pain and fury and glared at the darkness who merely grinned in response.

"I keep losing your attention, Arthur," his father scolded, sounding so much like the old man that Arthur's heart ached. "Next time I will make sure Merlin pays the price for your insolence and have you watch. Perhaps I'll cut out a tongue."

"You leave him alone," Arthur snarled. "I swear if you touch him I'll—"

"You'll what," the darkness interrupted, amused. "Kill me? Honestly Arthur, you must do better than that. Don't you realize that I hold all the strings? You have no magic, no sword, and are injured while I have all of Merlin's magic to call upon. The best thing you can do now is play along with me. Who knows? Perhaps I'll be lenient and make it quick for you."

"No, you won't," said a hoarse voice behind them.

Arthur whipped around and almost shouted with joy as Merlin came to his side. Well, he stumbled through most of it, hands clutched tight around his middle and breath coming in quick gasps, but if Arthur ignored those two little details he could almost pretend his friend was all right. After all, Merlin spent most of his time stumbling around anyways.

"Impressive," the darkness said, grudging respect lingering in its hollow eyes. "I didn't expect you to come back so soon though I can't say I am disappointed. You are rather fun to play with."

Merlin ignored it and turned to look at Arthur with haunted eyes. His gaze wandered over him as if checking for injuries and the young man winced when he saw Arthur's broken hand.

"Are you alright," he asked softly, gesturing weakly at his sire's mangled limb.

"I'm fine," Arthur replied tightly. "It's you I am worried about."

"It's all in my head," Merlin said weakly, trying to smile but failing miserably. "Nothing to be worried about, sire."

From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see the darkness's fury growing as the two men continued to ignore it. This often happened to Arthur. When he and Merlin got to bickering or bantering or whatever else they might do it was if they were all alone in the world and everything else would be faded, as if they were a fabric that had been bleached by the sun. In fact, he had received so many complaints about it during his first few weeks of being king that he had been forced to remove Merlin from his side and place him down among the people. Of course, this hadn't really stopped Merlin from being a disrupting force. If anything it had made the problem worse, for Merlin had taken to making strange and often amusing faces at Guinevere and Arthur suspected that if he hadn't already become immune to the idiot he might have laughed in some poor farmer's face right as he came to ask for winter supplies. Not a great way to start a kingship nor was it a great way to increase their odds with the darkness.

Arthur's alarm bells suddenly went off and with instinct born from decades of training, stepped evenly in front of his servant just as the imposter's blow fell. The blow had been meant for Merlin's chest, possibly to break something valuable, but with Arthur being a good deal shorter than his friend it hit him directly in the throat. Luckily the blow hadn't reached its full power for Arthur was sure that if it had his neck would have broken. As grateful as he was about fate's minor interference it didn't stop him from falling to his knee's as he struggled to regain the ability to breath.

The king choked for a long time, tears streaming down his face as he attempted to get his windpipe working again. He felt something soft brush against him and when he looked up he was horrified to find that Merlin had stepped protectively in front of his king, though barely able to stand himself.

"Bravo," the darkness laughed, clapping its hands in mock applause. "The two of you are better entertainment than I had expected."

The darkness took a step towards them but stopped when Merlin put out a hand. Arthur could sense something strange burst into existence around him and was touched by a presence both familiar and alien to him. It filled him and while Arthur knew he should be cautious he found the presence strangely comforting. The horrible pressure on his throat eased and he was able to draw in air much easier than before.

"Stupid boy," the darkness hissed, eyes narrowed. "You honestly think your little spell will stop me? The use of your magic will only kill you faster."

"I know," Merlin said quietly. "I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for him. You won't touch him again."

"Merlin," Arthur coughed, horrified. "What are you doing?"

"Fulfilling my destiny," the warlock said with a small smile.

"No," the king rasped. "This is ridiculous, Merlin. Stop being an idiot before I have to hurt you."

"There isn't much you can do," Merlin shrugged. "It can't break through my wall from the outside and I am not planning on releasing it any time soon. Awen can bring you back in time for you to do what you need to."

Arthur stared at his friend and after only a moment's thought made his decision. Merlin had spent his entire time in Camelot trying to protect his king and even now, with death barreling towards him he stood firm in his belief that he was meant to keep Arthur alive. Well, two could make that argument. Merlin had said that the prophecy extended to both of them and that both men would be needed to unite the lands of Albion. It was Arthur's turn to sacrifice for his friend and if he perished while attempting to save him then maybe Arthur would have his glorious death after all.

He stood, rubbing at his bruised throat, trying to keep his muscles from giving away his plans. Almost immediately Merlin turned to look at him with suspicion heavy in his eyes and Arthur sighed. Honestly, he didn't even know why he'd bothered. He doubted that he had ever been able to hide much from his friend, no matter how often he thought he had.

"What are you planning," Merlin whispered cautiously, raising his other hand out, but whether this was to shoot a spell his way or merely to dissuade him from moving closer, Arthur didn't know.

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly. "I know that I have made mistakes and that sometimes I don't treat you with the greatest respect."

"Sometimes," Merlin asked, snorting.

"Alright," Arthur grudgingly relented. "A lot of the time. And I'm sorry for that. I need you to know that—"

"Please don't," Merlin moaned, face crumpling.

Arthur knew that Merlin wasn't talking about their conversation, but that the young man had guessed his plans and was begging him to reconsider. Sorry to disappoint, Merlin, he thought.

"Just shut your mouth and listen, will you? I need you to know that you are the best friend I could have asked for, Merlin. If you hadn't come along I don't think I would be a very nice person, but you changed me and I am eternally grateful. You need to understand that I'm doing what needs to be done, not because I want to the hero or because there are greater things at stake, but because you…because I care about…because I need you in my life, Merlin. Even if all you do is annoy me."

"Touching," the darkness hissed, pounding a fist against the invisible shield. "But, it won't save either of you. I'll carve both of you up so badly you'll be screaming for death."

"I'll get to you in a minute," Arthur said coldly, before turning his eyes back to Merlin.

"You always do this," Merlin snapped, staring at Arthur in what could only be desperation. "I try to make the big gesture and save your life only to have you throw yourself at something even more dangerous before. Why can't you just do as I tell you?"

"The same reason you never listen to me," Arthur smirked before grasping his friend's hand outstretched hand and pulling the young man behind him.

"Please," Merlin begged. "It will kill you Arthur."

"I know," Arthur said quietly.

"Then why are you doing this?"

"It's what you do when you care," Arthur said simply, smiling sadly at his friend. "Listen Merlin, before this all goes to hell, I want you to tell Guinevere I love her."

"You can tell her yourself," Merlin said fiercely. "Stop being such a prat and stay here."

"No," Arthur replied. "I don't think I will, thanks."

And before Merlin could stop him Arthur threw himself out of the makeshift shield and at the darkness waiting just beyond it. He had no weapon and only one useable arm, but the king was determined to deliver as much damage as he could to the thing in front of him. He only hoped Merlin would stay behind the shield, but knew it was a ridiculous thing to expect.

Sure enough, as soon as Arthur collided with the imposter, Merlin had tried to join into the fray only to find himself flat on his face, too weak from his hasty display of magic to even assist his king.

The darkness hit Arthur hard across the face even as he sought purchase with his fist and his feet. He crumpled, dazed and watched as death walked slowly towards him, smile plastered firmly on its face.

"No," Merlin howled, pushing himself up once more and attempting to run to Arthur's aid.

"Fool," the darkness spat, turning its attention back to the weakened man. "You should have let your king die for you."

The darkness gathered what looked like a large ball of writhing shadows and with a quick flick of a wrist sent it hurdling towards Merlin. The orb of seething power connected firmly with his chest and the warlock was sent crashing to the ground a few feet away, twitching in agonized spasms as the magic worked its way deep into his system.

"I told you I would make you watch," the darkness hissed, but Arthur didn't know if its comment was aimed at himself or Merlin.

Arthur felt rage and horror building inside, sparking in his blood and lending fire to his thoughts. He jumped up with a scream of fury and hurtled once more into the darkness, sinking his fist into its face with a satisfying crunch, not realizing that it would be the only real blow he would deliver.

To call the encounter between king and devil a fight would be a gross misstatement. It was more of a beating and certainly the worst Arthur had ever experienced. He was so used to winning and even if he lost it had always been by a fraction, but now he was almost unable to fight back at all. It required all of his strength to keep the imposter from pummeling him, though if the red haze beginning to fill his vision was any indicator the darkness had managed at least a few damaging shots.

Arthur had never fought particularly dirty for it wasn't the way of the Knight's Code and he was secretly glad that none of his fellow warriors would see the depths he'd fallen to that day. He clawed, he bit, he punched, but nothing seemed to work.

"My power grows as Merlin's strength weakens," the darkness taunted after a particularly jarring hit to the king's head. "You never stood a chance, King of Camelot. You should have stayed at home where it was safe."

Arthur knew he'd made some sort of reply, but with a tongue as thick as English Custard and a ringing in his ears that made the alarm bells of Camelot seem like whispers it was rather difficult even for Arthur to understand just what he'd said. He hoped it had been something incredibly witty and scathing, but had a strange feeling that he'd said something about unicorns and a dog with his tail on the wrong end. Certainly not the last words he'd been hoping for, but they would have to do.

Arthur tried to stand, but the darkness knocked him flat again with a sharp blow from the flat edge of his sword. He tried to grab the weapon from the imposter's grip, but the only place for him to find purchase was the blade itself and though his efforts were valiant they cost him dearly. He cried out as the blade was ripped from his hands and he felt hot blood bubble from between his fingers.

The darkness kicked him hard in the ribs and the king could not find the strength to get up again. He was dimly aware of the imposter gripping his hair and dragging him across the broken earth before dropping his head unceremoniously to the ground.

He groaned when the imposter started speaking. Too loud. Why did it have to be so damned loud? The words slowly started to take form and before long he was able to pick out pieces of the conversation that took place above him.

"What the hell have you done," he heard Merlin curse weakly, before gasping in pain himself.

"This is what happens when you fight me, Merlin. His blood is on your hands."

"No," Merlin groaned. "Please leave him alone. I'll do what you want, alright? Just leave him alone."

"On your word," the darkness snarled. "Promise you'll give in and I will free him."

"I promise," the warlock said without a hint of hesitation. "Now let him go."

"As you wish," came the imposter's soft reply.

Arthur didn't feel the blade slide in between his ribs, at least not right away. It was a distant pressure and not painful in the least, but after a few seconds the pressure turned to burning and a few more after that his entire chest was a raging fire. He tried to scream, but his breath was stolen from him before it could reach his lips.

He opened his eyes a fraction to see the blade of his sword impaled a few inches into his chest, just beneath his heart. He grunted as the blade was yanked free of him and watched as his blood spattered the ground. His breath came fast and shallow and he felt light headed and dizzy. Merlin stared at him with horror on his face and though the young man struggled to crawl to him the darkness grabbed him around the throat and pulled him to his feet.

"Watch," the darkness hissed in his Merlin's ear. "Watch as the life drains from him. Isn't it remarkable? His heart still struggles to beat even as the brain tells it that it is a futile effort. What a remarkable species you are."

"You promised," Merlin screamed, tears pouring unchecked down his grimy cheeks. "You swore you would set him free."

"And so I have," the darkness replied mildly. "Death is a sort of freedom is it not?"

Arthur watched this exchange, but didn't understand a word of it. Shock had begun to set in and the king was grateful. The raging inferno in his chest had dimmed to a small flame and Arthur could feel the soothing caress of sleep calling to him like a siren in the deep. He tried to fight it, but the voice was so beautiful and he was so damned tired.

The last thing Arthur saw, as his life drained away, was Merlin screaming his name as he was dragged away from him before suddenly disappearing with the darkness holding him firmly in its grasp. His eyes fluttered and for a brief moment he thought he could feel Guinevere stroking his hand, but the sensation was soon lost as the king closed his eyes and saw no more.


	30. Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

**Author's Note: **_ Alright folks, this is the first of the last seven chapters. I hope that I haven't made this story too long, but I have thoroughly enjoyed writing it. Also, I was wondering what you all thought about me continuing writing stories within this story arc. I feel a little iffy about this chapter so please REVIEW and let me know what you think. Thanks!_

"Nan," Awen cried, bursting through her grandmother's hut door. "Nan, I did it! Can you believe it? I finally did it!"

She was happier than she had ever been in her entire life. With her new abilities Awen knew that she might be able to take a different path in her life than she had previously planned. Perhaps that life might even involve Merlin though there would have to be an entirely awkward conversation between herself and the young man once he was feeling better. Awen didn't know whether she was more giddy or more nervous for their talk, but felt ready for it no matter what Merlin's response was.

Her Nan's back was turned to her and though Awen couldn't see what her grandmother was doing she knew something was wrong. Her happiness had suddenly been overpowered by a foreboding and worry so strong that Awen had to immediately shut the emotions out lest they overwhelm her.

"Nan," Awen whispered nervously. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"You said you've mastered your gifts," Nan said softly, turning to face her, eyes void of expression.

"Yes," Awen replied. "I did—"

"Good," her grandmother interrupted tersely. "Here is your first chance to prove yourself."

She stepped aside and Awen let out a quiet gasp of horror at the sight of the young king of Camelot. She had noticed the blood first as it pooled beneath the young man's limp form and smeared the sheets. It wasn't until she examined him closer that she became aware of the ragged wound in his chest.

Arthur's breathing was harsh and rattling, stopping and starting again with no discernible pattern. Awen pressed her finger against the underside of his throat and felt his pulse become faster and more irregular even as she held it there.

"Nan," Awen gasped, staring back at her grandmother in horror. "What happened?"

"I cannot say for sure," Nan whispered, staring at the young man with something akin to pity in her eyes. "I felt something in his life force, Awen. Something so evil I cannot describe it. I tried to pull him back, but it was too late. The damage had already been done. I attempted to heal him myself, dear one, but I am afraid the wound goes deeper than the flesh. It goes to the very heart of him. You are his only hope now."

"There seems to be a lot of that lately," Awen whispered, trying to use wit to calm her nerves. The effort failed miserably.

She knelt beside the dying man and pressed her hands just beneath his heart, grimacing as the warmth of his blood seeped between her fingers.

"I can do this," she whispered to herself. "I was born to do this."

Closing her eyes, she opened her spirit to the king's pain and could feel his soul withering. She had little time. After taking a moment to clear her head, Awen began to chant the words she had been taught since childhood. At first, she was terrified to realize that they weren't working, but refused to give into the fear writhing within her belly and before long she felt her power flowing from within her and into the injured man beside her.

She was aware of Arthur's heart thudding at tremendous speed as the magic reached him before slowing to a healthy thrum as the wounds were knit. Tiny tendrils of power wound themselves deeper into the young man and Awen suddenly cried out as her magic ran into something dark and horribly cold.

Dimly she felt Nan grasp her shoulder with a weathered hand and add her strength and power to Awen's own. Her magic suddenly burst into flame and Awen could sense the dark wall wither in the light of her and Nan's combined strength. She watched it burn and couldn't help but find a strange satisfaction in her ability to devour such an abomination.

With a sudden and renewed strength Awen felt Arthur's consciousness seethe up from where it had been trapped. She lifted her hands from his chest and immediately their connection was broken. It was barely a moment later that the young king jerked awake, raising up and gasping for breath, looking about him with wide eyes.

"Arthur," she said softly, attempting to sooth him. "Arthur, it's alright. You're safe now."

"Merlin," the young king gasped, looking at her with tortured eyes. "The darkness has Merlin, Awen. I couldn't stop it from taking him. I…I failed him."

"You failed no one," Nan grunted at him. "You were dying, King of Camelot. It was never your duty to save him."

"You don't understand," Arthur cried, clearly still feeling the terror and pain of what had occurred. "I have to go back there and get him. You should have seen what that thing did to him! Please, Awen. Send me back…I have to go back."

Awen could tell that the young man was becoming more agitated by the second and while she had healed the majority of the damage there was still a part of Arthur's soul and body that would have to heal on it's own. The king needed rest and he certainly wasn't going to sleep if the decision was left up to him. Luckily, Nan had obviously felt the same way for she suddenly turned away from them both and hovered over the hearth for a moment. Awen could see her sprinkle something into the steaming water she had poured and when Nan brought the cup over Awen could smell the slightly tangy and bitter odor of Gysglyd berries.

Awen had been on the receiving end of these berries only a few times in her life, but they had knocked her out so completely that when she had finally woke she discovered she had been deeply asleep for three days. Arthur wouldn't be very pleased when he regained his wits, but Awen would deal with that when the time came. For now, the young man needed to heal and he wasn't going to do so while agitated and nervous.

"This will take you back," Nan lied, handing the cup to Arthur. "Make sure you drink it all or else it won't work."

Arthur ripped the cup from Nan's grasp as if he were a man dying of thirst. He swallowed the entire contents of the cup in a single, large gulp despite the heat of the water and it was only after he'd finished that Arthur realized something wasn't entirely right.

"This tasted different," Arthur whispered, voice already beginning to slur. "You've done something. What did you do?"

He tried to stand but Awen pushed him down again with a firm hand. He fought her but the drug had already taken a hold of him and Awen barely had to apply pressure to keep him seated. Only a moment later the king flopped back on the bed, eyes flickering slowly, before finally closing all together.

"Men," Nan muttered, taking the cup from Arthur's limp hand before it clattered to the floor. "They think they are so smart and yet we manage to fool them time and time again."

"This isn't something to be proud of Nan," Awen admonished softly. "We tricked him and I doubt he'll forget it."

"Perhaps he will and perhaps he won't," Nan said shrugging. "None of this matters at the moment. You have one more life to save, little one. I would suggest you get to it quickly before the damage is too great."

"I can heal him the same way I did Arthur," Awen answered, feeling confident in her abilities.

"You cannot," Nan said, shaking her head. "The wounds the two men suffered are entirely different, Awen. The King of Camelot suffered wounds of the flesh because he maintained a strong connection to reality through me. "

"How is Merlin different," Awen asked, frowning.

"The warlock has no connection to this world," Nan replied. "The darkness keeps him lost within his own mind."

"Why is that important?"

"It is a strategy any military leader knows," Nan whispered. "I imagine that if we woke young Arthur he would tell you something very similar to what I am about to. Answer me this, dear one. If you were commanding an army against a foe with powerful allies, what would be your first goal?"

"I would want to alienate them," Awen said immediately, recalling battle lessons her mother had taught her so many years earlier.

"Yes, and after that?"

"Break them," Awen answered, throat clenching as she realized the implications of her words. "I would want to break their will to fight. Nan, the darkness is trying to keep Merlin from fighting it."

"I think so," the old woman said sadly. "His soul and his magic are being ripped to pieces, Awen. The pain of such a thing would be enough to crumble any man's resistance, but with Arthur being ripped away from him so cruelly I wonder just how long he has left."

"So what do I do," Awen asked. "How do I help him?"

"You must meet the devil in his own field, Awen. Only there will you truly be able to vanquish him."

"Can you guide me," Awen whispered.

"This is your destiny alone, child. I will be your connection as I was Arthurs, but I can do no more."

"I suppose we should get started then," Awen said firmly, staring at the hollowed face of her warlock.

Nan handed her granddaughter another cup of the potion Arthur had used to find his way into Merlin's mind. Awen stared at it for a moment before smiling dangerously at her grandmother.

"Let the battle begin," she said fiercely, before draining the cup.

Awen felt her eyes slide closed and when she opened them again she was in the barren landscape of Merlin's haunted mind. She could feel the remnants of the good spirit that had once resided there and she wept at how desolate a creature that man had become.

Her head snapped up when she heard a distant scream and without even thinking of what she was doing started sprinting in the direction of the cry. The earth, though it was not real, cracked and strained beneath her feet and Awen couldn't help but wonder if the whole floor would collapse when Merlin finally succumbed to the darkness.

Not that she was going to let that happen. The screams became louder and louder still and suddenly she was upon them, almost running headlong into the creature torturing the man she loved.

It turned to stare at her impassively as if trying to gauge her threat level. It's lips slowly curved away from it's teeth in a snarl and it took a cautious step closer to Merlin, holding the handle of wickedly curved blade that was currently taking up residence in the warlock's ribcage.

"You will leave him alone," she said confidently, her voice chilling even to her own ears.

"I have no intention of doing any such thing," the darkness whispered, shifting into a smug faced Arthur. "Merlin and I are having such great fun, together."

He wrenched the blade up and the young man jerked on the table, gurgling harshly in his throat. The warlock tried to escape the biting pressure of the blade by scrabbling weakly away from the gloating Arthur, but the imposter stayed with him, digging the knife deeper as Merlin tried to move.

"Like gutting a fish," Arthur smiled. "No matter how hard it wriggles the blade stays in."

Awen felt like retching, but she held it in. She had to close her senses up tight or else she would have been swept away by the tidal wave of Merlin's pain. She looked at the darkness impassively with cool eyes.

"This ends now," Awen snapped, stepping forward and drawing a smooth, silver sword from the scabbard on her hip.

The blade was a beautiful weapon created in the style of her people. It was not real, of course, but unlike Arthur, Awen knew that she was the master of her own reality. She may be stuck inside Merlin's mind, but as long as she was here she didn't have to play by any rules but her own.

She pushed her power into the blade until it shone with an almost holy light, causing the darkness to draw back from its reach. Awen was strangely satisfied to see a hint of fear enter into the creature's eyes and her confidence grew in response.

"Your magic is old," the Arthur imposter whispered, staring at her in disbelief. "Who are you?"

"I am the last priestess of the Blessed," Awen replied, voice echoing cool and strong. "I am the one who is going to kill you."

"Merlin is too far gone for you to save," fake Arthur hissed at her. "He will be nothing but an empty shell of a man."

"Like hell I will," Merlin rasped, staring at Awen's sword with something like rapture in his eyes.

The fake Arthur twisted the knife cruelly and Merlin rasped out a scream, curling away from the blade.

"You are nothing," the darkness shouted at the young man. "You killed your best friend, boy. You are a murderer."

Awen could see that the words were having a strange effect on the warlock and the young man visibly sagged against the table, guilt mixing with pain.

"Arthur's not dead," Awen called to him, watching as he raised his hollow gaze to hers. "I saved him in time, Merlin. He's not dead. Don't give up on me now."

"He's not dead," Merlin repeated, closing his eyes.

Awen grew concerned when the young man did not open them again, but took comfort that his lips were moving in a steady pattern. He was repeating what she had said to him like a prayer, grasping onto anything he could to keep him fighting.

"Enough of this," Awen snarled, raising her sword. "You will not touch him again."

She sprinted forward with her sword before her like a guiding light and swung her blade in a graceful arc towards the fake Arthur's face. The creature barely had time to lift his own weapon in response to hers, but even as his sword connected with her own Awen was already moving into her next blow.

Whipping the sword down and to the right she freed her blade from his and whirled inhumanly fast to catch him around the middle. Once again the darkness barely countered her deadly thrust in time and Awen grinned. With each thrust of her blinding blade the darkness was forced farther and farther back until it was all he could do to keep her blade from finding purchase within his flesh.

He tried to slither around her but Awen blocked his path, drawing a large cut across his jawline. The creature hissed and clawed at his face as the magic in the blade blackened the skin there before turning it to ash.

Awen was riveted at what her power had done and for a brief second lost her concentration. The darkness took advantage of her moment of weakness and slammed into her attempting to wrestle the blade from her hands even as his teeth sought purchase in the skin of her throat. The sword was kicked away from her and she watched in horror as it clattered to the ground some ten feet away.

The darkness pounced on his opportunity to even the playing field and he attempted to free himself from the tangle of their limbs, but Awen yanked hard on the fake Arthur's leg and he collapsed once more. She lost sight of the sword as the darkness fought to free himself of her and Awen had to hold on with all the strength she had, knowing that if the creature managed to get his hands on her weapon all would be lost.

The creature was stronger than she had expected and without the aid and skill of her blade Awen found herself weakening against his continued onslaught. She tried to grab fake Arthur's collar but as she did so the creature's head whipped around quicker than she had thought possible and sunk his teeth into her hand. Awen cried out and tried to buck him off of her but he held on despite her efforts and before she could really even begin to understand just how she'd lost the fight, his hands were on her throat, squeezing mercilessly.

She could feel her breath being forced from her lungs and dark spots danced lazily across her vision. She struggled uselessly and the darkness laughed at her efforts. Awen's heart was beating frantically and the lazy spots had turned into an angry swarm of black bees.

"You see," he hissed, fingers tightening. "You all have failed and soon I will rid myself of this irksome mortal mind and take my pleasure from your deaths. No one can stop me."

"That's where you are wrong," Merlin rasped from above them.

The creature jerked and suddenly the pressure on Awen's throat loosened allowing her to draw in breath once more. She watched, dazed, as the darkness screeched attempting to pull the sword Merlin had driven into him from his back. Even as he struggled the power in the blade seeped into the darkness and it began to burn from the inside out. Flesh blackened rapidly and the creature howled his rage and pain to the world.

He must have known that its death was imminent for he searched for Merlin even as he began to fall apart. The moment the two locked eyes Awen knew that fake Arthur would do anything it possibly could to take Merlin with him. The creature took a hitching step towards him, but was stopped by Awen gripping his leg tightly and pulling. He crashed to the ground and exploded in a dense cloud of ash.

Suddenly all was quiet and as the ash rained down around them the reality of their victory began to set in. Awen shouted in joy even though it tore her throat to do so, but she found she didn't care.

"We did it," she cried. "Merlin you were brilliant—"

She stopped abruptly when she saw the look on his face. He looked defeated even though he'd saved both of their lives. He looked hollow and grave and his eyes were stagnant pools of blue.

"Merlin," Awen said quietly. "Did you hear what I said? We won."

She touched his shoulder and he blinked up at her, flinching away from her touch. She immediately drew her hand back, but before she could fully retract it Merlin had grabbed her fingers in a death grip.

"Don't," he rasped, eyes fearful. "Don't leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere Merlin," Awen said softly, pulling the young man into her arms. "I won't leave you, I promise."

"Awen," Merlin asked, face buried in the hollow of her throat.

"Yes," the young woman replied, horribly aware of the tension in his shoulders and the way he shook as if horribly cold.

"Can I sleep now?"

"Oh, Merlin," Awen whispered, a stray tear falling across her cheek. "Of course you can sleep now."

The young man went limp in her arms before she'd even finished answering him.


	31. Scrambled Brains With Crazy on the Side

**Author's Note: **_This chapter is a little bit longer than the others because I decided to combine two chapters into one. Things are starting to get better for our boys so I hope you guys like this chapter. I appreciate all the feedback I received on the last one and am so glad you all thought it was good. Since you are already heavily entrenched in my mania perhaps you would be so kind to REVIEW this chapter as well. Thanks and see you all tomorrow night for the next chapter._

The first thing Arthur did upon waking was inquire about Merlin. Well, more like he threatened Nan with her life if the young man hadn't been saved. One might say the king was slightly miffed at being tricked so deviously by the two Fair Folk women, but Arthur would deny this, saying he'd only been concerned about his friend. After all, he would argue, he didn't have a petty bone in his body.

"Don't take that tone with me, young king," Nan scolded after his outburst. "Or you'll find yourself with a tail."

"You don't have the magic to do that," Arthur snapped hoarsely.

"Care to try me," Nan replied evenly, staring at Arthur with one eyebrow raised.

"Fine," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Tell me how and where Merlin is now...please."

"He is as good as can be expected," the old woman answered, nodding her approval at Arthur's attempt at manners.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he is on the mend, King of Camelot."

"Good," Arthur said quietly, trying to hide the relief and joy he felt at his friend's return to health. "I should go see him. Where is he?"

He attempted to rise from his bed, but was stopped by an angry poke of the spoon Nan was carrying. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him until, cowed, Arthur sunk back in the bed with a defeated sigh. Perhaps it was just as well because it was only after this exchange that Arthur realized he was missing his trousers.

"You will do no such thing," Nan huffed, poking him once more for good measure. "I haven't stood watch over you for the last two days for you to go gallivanting around without even eating a decent meal first."

"Two days," Arthur gulped. "I've been asleep for two days?"

"It's a good thing you were," Nan snapped. "I don't know if I would have been able to get you to sit still. Do all mortals insist upon being so recklessly stupid or does that talent belong entirely to you and the warlock?"

"The answer to that is still up for debate," Arthur said wryly.

"Here," Nan said, shoving a large bowl of steaming stew in front of his face. "Eat all of that. You aren't getting out of that bed until every last drop is gone."

"Anything I should be worried about," he asked, eyeing the soup with a cautious eye.

"Nothing springs to mind," Nan answered, allowing the young man to take a bite before saying, "Oh, I forgot to mention the snakes tongue."

Normally Nan would allow herself only a little pleasure after one of her practical jokes, but the image of Arthur spraying his soup out between his lips as he choked would bring tears of mirth to her eyes for years.

"Snakes tongue," the young man cried, looking at her with a mix of horror and disgust.

"Arthur," she scolded. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that you shouldn't believe everything you hear? People might think you are gullible."

"I hope you're happy," Arthur growled after a long pause as realization struck. "This is the second time you've done that to me, but you won't do it again. I can promise you that."

"We shall see," Nan replied, smirking. "Now eat your soup and I shall fill you in on the last two days."

Arthur obediently sipped at his broth, reluctant to admit that it satisfied the aching, gnawing hunger growling in his gut. He listened as Nan told him of Awen's rescue and Merlin's role in the defeat of the darkness. The young man had fallen into a deep sleep and had not woken yet, but Nan informed the king that though Merlin hadn't opened his eyes, his sleep hadn't been entirely peaceful. The young man had been plagued by nightmares and it wasn't uncommon to see him thrashing in his sleep, chest heaving with fear and exhaustion.

Arthur felt his stomach sink and the soup almost found its way back up his throat, but he swallowed hard and the feeling passed.

"Awen calms him," Nan said softly, watching the king closely. "She stays with him most days and talks to him. I don't know if he can actually hear what she is saying, but he seems to respond well to her voice."

"How long will it be like this," Arthur asked, voice harsh with emotion.

"I cannot say for sure. He is very weak, Arthur and will continue to be in that state for a long time to come. Awen saved him from the darkness, true enough, but there are wounds of the heart that even magic cannot heal. These will take time and patience, young king. Especially from you."

"Why especially from me?"

"You are the most important person in his life and because of this you will have a great deal to do with his recovery, just as you had a great deal to do with his rescue."

"I need to see him," Arthur whispered. "Please don't keep me from him."

"I have no intention of keeping you from him, young king. You will see him when the time is right."

"Why are you doing this," Arthur cried, exasperated. "Just let me see him, dammit!"

"Arthur," Nan snapped. "Think before you speak, boy. Who was the person the darkness was most fond of becoming? Who was the form that inflicted mental and physical torture on the warlock for days?"

"Me," Arthur replied hoarsely. "It was me. Nan, are you saying that Merlin is scared of me?"

"I believe that in his mind he knows the difference between you and the darkness, Arthur. Yet, as I pointed out before, the heart can be just as convincing as the mind and Merlin's heart has been deeply scarred. He may know that you are not the man that harmed him, but the fear will remain and this may cause him to retreat from you."

"Then I'll just have to convince him that I—"

"No," Nan said harshly. "You will not do anything, Arthur. You must allow him to heal and pushing him will do nothing but hinder him in this. Both of you have been through a great ordeal and each of you will heal in your own ways. Perhaps Merlin will have no trouble picking up right where the two of you left off, but I feel that he will be cautious of you at the very least."

Arthur couldn't speak past the lump in his throat, but he nodded his agreement. The idea of Merlin being terrified of him was so repugnant that the very thought of it left a giant, gaping hole where his heart should be. How could he face his friend when every touch caused the man to recoil with terror? When the very sight of the young king would force him to recall every moment of his torture in vivid detail?

Arthur didn't even think he could ask it of the warlock and he wondered if their friendship would ever be the same. Would Merlin ever be able to forgive him and for that matter would Arthur be able to forgive himself?

"All things come in time," Nan whispered. "Do not give up hope, young king."

"How am I supposed to get us both home," Arthur finally asked, after a ringing silence between the two unlikely companions. "I know Merlin isn't up to a journey like that and I'm not feeling too great myself, but we can't stay here forever. I have a kingdom that I cannot leave abandoned."

"And a wife who's fury will only grow the longer you stay away," Nan suggested shrewdly, a sly smile on her face.

"That to," Arthur muttered, knowing that Guinevere was likely to be equal parts furious and relieved when he finally returned home. "She is going to punish me for a long time for this little escapade."

"Well," Nan replied, laughing softly. "I have good news for you, King of Camelot. We have received word that a knight of your realm is waiting for you beyond the mists and will assist you in reaching your destination."

"What," Arthur said, head jerking up. "Received word from whom? What knight?"

"The dragon," Nan said quietly. "And a knight named Gawaine."

"The dragon? You mean Kilgarrah? How is it that everyone knew there was a giant lizard flying around but me?"

"Do you honestly think that the king who granted us these lands was the only one to protect us, King of Camelot? We have known the dragon since we came to these shores and he has been a good friend to our people."

"Of course he has," Arthur muttered. "Wait, did you say Gawaine?"

"Yes."

"Who in their right mind would send Gawaine? He's probably the worst choice out of all of them for a task like this."

"It seems to me that you judge him unfairly, Arthur. For a man to undergo such a journey for another is a sign of someone who cares very deeply for them. And from what I understand the man is a good friend of Merlin's."

"This is true. When the two of them are together you can't get them to shut up. It's like listening to two crows squawking at one another for hours on end."

"I would not cast stones," Nan smirked. "You are not far from a crow yourself, young king."

"I sound nothing like a crow! And I certainly don't talk for hours on end, thank you very much. So, if the dragon is here why don't we just fly back to Camelot? It would be much faster and perhaps we can leave Gawaine behind."

"Neither of us think that is the wisest course," Nan replied simply. "Merlin will be extremely weak and traveling back on horses will provide the many opportunities needed to allow him to rest. It will also allow the two of you to figure out where you stand before you return to Camelot and your duties prevent you from doing so."

"Alright," Arthur consented. "But where does Gawaine come into this?"

"He will serve as your protector on the ground and Kilgarrah will be your protector in the sky."

"I don't need a protector," Arthur yelped, bristling. "I'm fine on my own."

"You forget that you are still human, young king. The wound you sustained was serious and has weakened you more than you realize. You will be of little use to yourself or your friend if something goes wrong. Even if everything goes according to plan, you will need the extra hands to help care for Merlin."

"When exactly are we leaving," Arthur snapped, still seething though he knew that what Nan was saying was true.

"That depends on Merlin," Nan answered. "Once he wakes we can judge his condition and if he is well enough than he can leave whenever we wishes to."

Arthur felt a hidden meaning behind her words, but couldn't figure it out. Merlin would be able to leave whenever he wishes was hardly suspicious, but then Arthur realized that perhaps Merlin might not be ready to leave when they were. Even more frightening was the idea that Merlin might not want to leave at all.

"Where is Gawaine now," Arthur asked, refusing to give voice to his fears.

"At the edge of the mist. He will wait for you there until the time comes to return home."

"Good," Arthur said absently. "That's good."

An awkward silence filled the room and Arthur felt his discomfort growing as Nan looked at him and as he tried to look anywhere but at her. Luckily, he was saved when Awen knocked softly on the door and entered.

The woman looked tired and haggard, but her eyes were bright and he smile wide when she stopped at her grandmother's chair."

"Oh, Arthur," she said glancing over at him. "I am glad to see you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"A bit tired," Arthur answered quickly. "How's Merlin?"

"He's awake," Awen whispered. "And he's asking for you, Arthur."

"He is," Arthur questioned, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. "How did he seem when he asked about me?"

"Exhausted," Awen replied. "And a little haunted, but he seemed calm enough. He refused to speak to anyone until he'd spoken to you."

Arthur immediately pulled the thin blanket tightly around his hips and half walked, half stumbled out of the bed. His legs were weaker than he thought they would be and they nearly gave out on him, but Awen put a steadying hand on his shoulder and quietly handed him his pants.

"I think you're conversation will be awkward enough," the girl said with a small smile. "Let's not make it any more so with you arriving without your skivvies, shall we?"

He laughed softly and gave her a grateful smile before turning away and somehow slipping on his trousers without revealing anything. At least….he thought he accomplished it…Awen hadn't said anything, but when he turned back around the young girl was pursing her lips and refused to look at him. Arthur chose the path of ignorance and decided not to ask her.

"I'm ready," he said breathlessly. "Can we go now?"

"Wait," Nan interrupted them. "Awen, I do not think the boy is ready for this."

"He is," Awen said without hesitation. "I felt it grandmother. There is fear there, but he needs to see Arthur."

"Alright," Nan cried, throwing her hands up in surrender. "You may see him, but I will decide when the two of you have had enough. I will not have you collapsing at my feet, is that understood?"

"Yes," Arthur said quickly. "Now let's go!"

Awen took hold of his shoulder and helped him hobble across the room and out the open door into the village beyond. Arthur felt his stomach crawling with nerves, but found that if he watched the grass shift colors the anxiety wasn't so bad. Of course, this made Awen's job of steering the king around obstacles a bit more difficult but she didn't complain.

After a short walk the two arrived at a door almost identical to the one they had left behind only moments before. Awen pushed it open and Arthur was led into a room not unlike his own though it shone with a calming blue hue instead of Arthur's purple.

The moment he entered the small hut his eyes immediately found Merlin. The young man was sitting up, watching him with a guarded expression. He looked much better than he had the last time Arthur had seen him and the king was glad to see that the black lines had all but disappeared leaving only a fine shadow along one side of his throat. His eyes still had dark circles beneath them and he was pale and slightly withered looking, but Arthur would take anything over what he'd been before.

"Arthur," Merlin said softly.

Arthur couldn't help but notice the slight shiver that went through the warlock as the king's name crossed his lips. He pretended that he hadn't seen it and smiled widely at his friend.

"Merlin," he greeted, striding unaided across the room to his friend's side. "It's good to see you awake."

Arthur watched as Merlin tensed a bit at his approach then relaxed as Arthur took the seat placed beside the bed. The king took note of his friend's reactions so that he would know what made the warlock nervous.

"How are you feeling," Arthur asked, watching as Awen slipped back outside the room.

"Better," Merlin replied, frowning as the girl left them alone. "Exhausted."

"That is understandable," Arthur said softly, nodding his head. "You've been through a great deal."

Merlin merely looked at him with unreadable eyes and Arthur felt his discomfort rise a notch. He fervently hoped that his friend would say something to ease the tension as he always had, but apparently Merlin wasn't exactly up to his normal antics. Arthur frowned as the young man began picking at his blanket nervously, growing more and more agitated as the silence grew. Finally Arthur could take it no more and he reached out to put a calming hand on the warlock's in order to stop the frantic movements.

Merlin hissed slightly and Arthur looked up just in time to see him flinch at the king's contact. The man's muscles were coiled tightly beneath his skin and Arthur felt hurt pour through him when he saw revulsion twist Merlin's features.

"Sorry," he mumbled, jerking his hand away from his servants.

"Please understand," Merlin gasped, staring at him with tortured eyes. "I can't—I'm trying to—just don't touch me, please."

"It won't happen again," Arthur said numbly.

"Please don't be angry with me," Merlin sighed, closing his eyes. "I couldn't stand it if you were angry with me."

"I'm not," Arthur replied honestly. "I'm scared that you'll never be able to trust me again."

"I just need time," Merlin said earnestly. "I need to work through some things."

"Like what it did to you," Arthur said, voice dangerously soft.

"Don't," Merlin whispered. "Talk about anything else, Arthur. I see it enough in my dreams. I don't need to talk about it to."

"Kilgarrah is here," Arthur whispered, switching the course of their conversation. "He brought Gawaine with him."

"I know," Merlin replied, relaxing slightly but still watching him with cautious eyes. Arthur wasn't sure he would ever get used to that look.

"How do you know, Merlin? You just woke up."

"Mind connection," Merlin answered, tapping his head lightly. "It's sort of like projecting your voice into another's thoughts."

"You really need to stop this."

"What? What have I done wrong now?"

"You keep astounding me, Merlin. I think that I have a firm grasp on what you can do and then you inform me of something knew. What else should I expect? Can you change into animals or something?"

"You know, I'm not sure. I have never tried that before. Maybe I should—"

"Don't even think about it, Merlin. Knowing you, you would probably bungle it up somehow and we'd have Merlin the mouse being chased by the castle cat; or Merlin the goose being roasted for a feast. Or you might make yourself into four different animals at once and get stuck that way and I would have to find a way to feed you and—"

"I think you've made your point, sire. I promise not to try any animal transformations on myself."

"Good. I'm glad you agree with me."

"But I never promised not to try them on you."

"I'd be the most magnificent beast you'd ever seen, Merlin."

"Sure, Arthur, whatever you say. Though I have yet to find a worm that looked magnificent. Slimy maybe, but not magnificent."

"I'd put all other worms to shame and you know it."

"Just like you put all the donkey's to shame, sire? I think they lost a bit of respect in the animal kingdom when you entered their ranks."

"Now why did you have to bring that up, Merlin? I though we agreed that we would never speak of that again."

"You agreed. I merely nodded my head to make you feel better."

"Merlin, it is common knowledge that when I agree to something you are automatically inclined to agree to it as well. It's one of your duties as my servant."

"Personal Sorcerer, sire. I prefer personal sorcerer."

"What on earth are you babbling about Merlin?"

"My new appointed position," Merlin said innocently. "I thought we agreed."

"You agreed. I merely nodded my head to make you feel better."

Merlin laughed and the sound brought joy to Arthur's ears.

"You'll see things my way eventually," the warlock whispered. "There has to be a change, Arthur. Things can't go on the way they were before."

"I already told you," Arthur sighed, displeased that their bantering had turned on them. "You are the exception to the rule and—"

"No," Merlin said harshly. "That isn't good enough, Arthur. I understand that you have lost a lot to magic, but I've lost a lot to the hatred of it to. I cannot sit back and let innocent people suffer. I won't."

"Alright, Merlin," Arthur said, alarmed at the direction their conversation had taken. "We will figure something out, ok? For now let's just concentrate on getting you better."

"Promise me, Arthur. Promise me that things will change…that you'll be the king you are meant to be."

"I promise, Merlin. We'll have plenty of time to work it all out. And if you are really dead set on being my personal magic guru or whatever the hell you called it I am sure we can make that happen somehow. After all, you really haven't been a servant for a long time. There is no reason to not make it official, right?"

"You know, Arthur, sometimes I actually like you."

"Merlin, you must not have many friends if that is how you talk to them."

"Oh, I have a few. Though none of them come close to my best friend."

"Who might that be?"

"I can't tell you, sire. It's a secret."

"I bet he's alarmingly handsome and incredibly gifted in every aspect of his life."

"No actually. He's a bit of a prat, to be honest. And he dresses himself hideously."

"Perhaps the man who dresses him is a bit dim."

"Oh, no. The man is brilliant and makes an excellent meat pie."

"Really, Merlin? Out of all the options you could have chosen you went with 'makes an excellent meat pie'?"

"Well, I wanted it to be believable, sire. If I had said that I had the strength of a hundred men nobody would believe me, though I am sure there is a spell for that somewhere. Creating an excellent meat pie is a believable, but brilliant way to earn people's affections."

"Oh, I would love to hear the logic of this."

"Well, it is a conversation starter, of course. People will want to know how I make the meat pie, perhaps inquire about the type of crust I use and the varieties of meat I put in. Then they will want to try one and before you know it we are bonding over delicious food and wine while you are attempting to dress yourself and failing miserably."

Arthur laughed and unconsciously moved to clap Merlin on the shoulder, but the man stiffened and immediately jerked away from him, eyes wide.

"Don't," he gasped. "I told you not to touch me."

"I'm sorry," Arthur sighed, "I thought our conversation was going so well and I got a bit carried away."

"It was going well," Merlin whispered. "I needed that, Arthur. Don't think otherwise."

"What do you mean?"

"I needed to know that we could still do this, sire. I needed to know that our friendship stood a chance against whatever that thing did to me."

"And?"

"And I think that we'll be fine eventually," Merlin replied, smiling sadly. "I just can't promise anything right now. It…God, it hurt so badly, Arthur. There were moments I couldn't breathe the pain was so overwhelming."

"I know," Arthur whispered. "I saw."

"It got worse than that," Merlin said hoarsely. "So much worse after you were hurt. And the whole time it was you doing it to me. Not you, of course, but the other you. After awhile I couldn't tell the difference between the two. And now, here I am and even though I know that it's over and I know it wasn't you it's all I can do to have you even this close to me."

"How can I make it better," Arthur asked, trying not to let the pain he felt at his friend's rejection show.

"Stay here with me," Merlin replied softly, voice shaking with nerves. "Just don't touch me, alright? Just talk with me and maybe that will help. It did a moment ago."

"Alright," Arthur said. "What shall we talk about?"

Merlin smiled at him gratefully, body relaxing slightly, but still entirely too tense to be considered normal behavior.

"Oh, I don't know. Surprise me, sire."

And so Arthur began to speak and before long the bantering began anew. Though the young man subconsciously moved to the far side of the bed to be farther from his king and though there were very few moments that the warlock would actually look him in the eye, Arthur felt the pressure between them begin to ease. He knew of course that it would be a long road for both of them, but perhaps Merlin was right. They would be fine…all it required was time.


	32. L is for the Way You Look at Me

**Author's Note: **_Alright folks, here comes a chapter I know many of you have been waiting for. I had fun writing this, but please let me know if it comes off too cheesy in any way. Love scenes are always difficult for me…yes…I said love scenes. Also, please inform me if you think it is too much for the content rating I gave my story at the beginning. I think it is fine, but others may have a different opinion. I wanted to dedicate this chapter to RocknVaughn whose review basically made me cry today…tears of happiness of course. In answer to your questions, yes the story will only be four chapters longer…well three chapters now….but don't worry because I already have quite a few ideas for the next story in this universe. I think the majority of my stories will be within this timeframe. In reference to your comment about my ability to update so quickly I am pretty sure my household ghost possesses me when I write. That is the only way I can explain it. He likes Merlin as well, though I think his favorite his Doctor Who because my Netflix always seems to be stuck on there when I get home. Anyways, please REVIEW and let me know your thoughts. _

Awen jerked awake, not entirely sure what it was that had caused her sudden rise from slumber. She had fallen asleep in the chair next to Merlin's bedside after the young man had drifted off while talking to Arthur and though the king had wanted to remain by his side Awen had convinced him to return to his own bed. Arthur had left when the sun had been low in the sky, hiding as the moon prepared to make her appearance. All was dark and quiet and Awen figured she had been asleep for several hours.

She rubbed a weary hand across her face as sleep released its hold on her and stretched languidly, relishing in the sweet sting of her muscles straining beneath her skin. The world became clearer now that her mind wasn't muddled with sleep and she instantly discovered the culprit behind her sudden return to consciousness. Merlin was gone.

Awen tried not to panic, she really did, but before she could even begin to think rationally she felt a tide of fear rising in her belly. Her mind tried to convince her of all manner of horrible reasons the young man wasn't where he should be and she found herself all but sprinting through the door and into the night beyond.

"Merlin," she yelled with little regard to those who might be slumbering peacefully. "Merlin, where are you?"

"There's no need to shout," Merlin said softly. "I can hear you just fine."

Awen whirled around and her panic withered instantly. The young man was lying in the patch of grass on the side of the hut he was being housed in, arms pillowing his head, eyes watching the swirling colors and bright stars of the night sky. He glanced at her and gave her a welcoming smile before returning his attention to the heavens.

"You scared me," Awen scolded, sitting beside the young man. "You should tell me before you leave like that."

"You looked so peaceful," he replied quietly. "I didn't want to wake you. I'm sorry if I frightened you."

"I just…well, Merlin I care about you," Awen whispered looking away from him. "I care about you a great deal."

Merlin didn't say anything for a while and Awen suddenly felt like a fool. It was stupid of her to expect the man to feel the same way for her and she suddenly felt tears pool in her eyes. She would be damned if she let the man see them fall.

"Just tell me next time," she said, rising and wiping her eyes defiantly.

"Wait," Merlin called. "Awen, I'm not very good at this. If I were Arthur I'd be kissing you by now, but I'm not and I don't know what to do. What do I say?"

"Say what you feel," Awen whispered, turning back to him.

"What I feel," Merlin sighed, closing his eyes. "I feel…you, mostly."

"What?"

"That came out wrong," Merlin groaned and even in the dark she could see the young man blushing. "I just meant that…how can I put this without sounding like an idiot? I mean, more of an idiot than I already do because frankly I sound pretty strange. Why did I say that? I feel you…what sort of response is that? Honestly, I had a whole world of adjectives open to me and I—"

"Merlin," Awen admonished. "You're babbling."

"Yes I am," Merlin replied and he sat up to look at her. "That is what you reduce me to, I suppose. I feel…this is going to sound ridiculous but I feel like I know you, Awen. Like I've known you my whole life. And I think…well, I think I'm falling in love with you, but this is the first time I have ever spoken to you outside my head and I'm not sure that even counts, does it? What I'm feeling doesn't even make sense."

"Does it have to?"

"I suppose it doesn't. Life has never made sense before this. I don't see any reason for that to change now, but…"

"But?"

"I'm broken, Awen. That's not fair to you and I haven't had much luck in love."

"Why not?"

Awen was sorry the moment the words had left her lips and she wished with all her heart that she could take them back. Sorrow, guilt, and pain twisted the young man's features and he closed his eyes, shaking his head as if to keep his demons at bay.

"She died," he whispered, voice agonized. "I tried to save her, but I couldn't. I barely knew her either, but I loved her with all of my heart. I've never been interested in anyone else since her death, but you. And now that I am I feel guilty even though I know I shouldn't. Freya would want me to be happy, wouldn't she?"

"Do you think she would?"

"Yes."

"Then what's holding you back, Merlin? I was just as skeptical as you are at the beginning, but what I feel hasn't changed and I don't think it will. I always figured love was rational, but now I realize that it's exactly the opposite. It doesn't have to make sense, Merlin. It just is."

"I know," he said agonized. "I know this, but—"

"But what," Awen sighed, sitting in the grass next to him and lacing her fingers with his own.

Merlin immediately tensed before jerking his fingers back from hers. He was breathing heavily and Awen could see tears of frustration and pain glistening on his cheeks.

"That," Merlin hissed, jaw clenched. "You can't even touch me without me remembering what it did to me. I told you…I'm broken."

"You are not broken and even if you were I wouldn't care," Awen said fiercely and as if to reinforce her point she boldly leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.

To this day Awen wouldn't be able to say just why she did. It had been a crazy thing to do especially with Merlin at such a fragile point, but something told her it was the right thing to and she'd gone with it.

The young man jerked back as if he'd been slapped and stared at her with the expressionless eyes, bringing his hand up to touch where her lips had been only seconds before.

"Why did you do that," he asked, voice hoarse.

"Because I wanted to, Merlin."

He stared at her incredulously and she smiled. He frowned at her and shook his head, eyes wide and bewildered.

"I can't believe you did that," he said, voice awed.

Awen felt a heat growing in her belly the likes of which she'd never felt before and she squirmed in the delight of it. Nan had always called them butterflies as she had grown up, but Awen suddenly realized that butterflies were only part of the reaction she was feeling. There was something else there to…a presence just beginning to make itself known.

She smiled in response to his disbelief and to assure herself that it was indeed Merlin causing this response in her she kissed him again, catching him by surprise once more. He had not thought she would try it again and his hands immediately went up to her shoulders to push her back. She couldn't help but notice however that even as he did so his lips lingered on her own longer than they had before.

"Stop that," Merlin panted. "You're distracting me. I was trying to tell you that I—"

"That you are broken, I know. Merlin, I understand you are afraid and I understand that there will be a lot for you to work through. I want to be there for you, Merlin. Can't you understand that? I can help you heal and not just from the tortures the darkness inflicted on you, but from everything."

"I can't," he whispered, voice agonized. "I can't ask that of you. Not yet."

"Then I will wait," she whispered. "When you're ready I'll be there."

She left him there, staring at her as if he didn't know what to do. She felt such pain for him because though he didn't know it she'd opened herself up to him and had felt the shadow of his agony and heartbreak in her own soul. She could feel the wounds there, deep and scarring and knew that despite her best efforts she had not arrived in time to keep the darkness from becoming a part of him in some small way. He would never be evil, but the pain would be there for the rest of his life.

She went back to her own hut and leaned against the doorway, feeling the telltale stinging of her eyes and she knew that tears were close at hand. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to keep them at bay, but they overpowered her and before she knew it she was crying, her tears glistening like the stars above them.

"That's new," Merlin whispered softly and Awen jerked her eyes open to see the young man standing inches away from her. "I've never seen tears that sparkled before."

He tenderly brushed a tear from her cheek and frowned before looking away in shame.

"I'm sorry I made you cry," he whispered. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

"It isn't you," Awen said softly. "I just wish I'd been able to do more, Merlin. I should have been faster, should have saved you sooner."

"Don't think that," Merlin scolded. "You saved my life, Awen. You are still saving my life, I think."

"What?"

"You held my hand," he whispered. "I remember that. You held it and you wouldn't let go. I was terrified, but you kept me grounded."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I can't let you wait for me. It's a cruel thing to do when we both know the outcome."

Awen felt like she'd been slapped. He'd rejected her again. Hadn't she had enough rejection for one evening?

"Fine," she hissed and Merlin pulled back slightly at her anger. "I don't know why you bothered coming after me, Merlin. You could have just left. I'm sure I would have gotten the message eventually."

"What," Merlin asked, astounded. "Awen, I don't think you understand—"

"Just leave me be," she snapped, stepping further into her home.

She tried to close the door in his face, but he stopped her with a hand on the door. She could tell that even this minor effort took a lot out of him, but she found she didn't care.

"Get out," she snarled, wanting more than anything to be away from this man so she could pour her grief out in solitude.

"No," came his reply. He pushed against the door and unless she wanted to risk hurting him Awen had to let him do it.

"Why not," she spat, tears of anger spilling down her cheeks.

She wanted nothing better than to hit him for acting so stupidly and so was caught by complete surprise when he grabbed her hand and pulled her close to him. As soon as she was close enough he released her hand, but she felt riveted by the expression on his face. Timid and eager all at the same time.

"What are you doing," she gasped.

"Paying you back," he grinned in response and for a moment he looked alive and well.

"What?"

"Awen, if you had listened to a word I'd said out there you might have realized something."

"Oh? What that might be?"

"I decided I don't want to wait."

And then he was kissing her and she was swept away with the feeling of his lips against hers. She opened herself up to his feelings and beneath the layers of pain and sorrow she could just make something bright and good, growing more powerful by the second.

He pulled back suddenly and looked at her shyly as if gauging her reaction.

"Well," she said hoarsely. "That was unexpected."

"That's what I was going for so three cheers for me."

"What happened to you not being able to stand my touch?"

His eyes darkened and he pulled away from her slightly.

"It isn't easy," he explained, voice rough with unseen tension. "I have to force myself to push past the fear, but so far it's working."

"If you can do it with me then maybe with Arthur—"

"No," he whispered. "I wish I could, but you and Arthur are entirely different. You never…I mean, not that he did…but I thought he did…and he's still the one that does it…in my dreams, I mean."

Awen watched as he shifted nervously on his feet, back and forth, back and forth until Awen stopped him by taking his hand. He looked at her fingers curled within his own for a long time and she could tell he was fighting his urge to pull away. His hand tightened convulsively before they suddenly relaxed, Merlin breathing a sigh of relief as they did so.

"See," he told her shakily. "Progress."

"It didn't seem to bother you when we were kissing," Awen said, perplexed.

"That's different," he sighed. "I told you that you were distracting, didn't I? I don't have room to feel much else besides how I feel about what we are doing. Which is good, of course. Very good."

She hadn't let go of his hand nor had he pulled it away from her, but she noticed that the longer she held it the more nervous he became.

"I want to try something," she whispered, kissing his fingers.

"What?"

"I want you to sleep with me," she said shyly.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it certainly wasn't Merlin making a startled choking sound. She looked up at him and found him staring at her with his mouth open almost comically, blushing deeply.

"You want me to what?"

"Sleep with me," she repeated, confused by his reaction. Then it hit her. "No, Merlin! I didn't mean like that! I just meant for you to stay with me tonight. I think that we can do something about your nightmares."

"Oh," he said sheepishly. "You made it sound like…I thought you meant—"

"I know what you thought," Awen said dryly.

"That was stupid," the man whispered and Awen could feel him retreating from her.

"Stop that," she snapped and he looked at her like a wounded puppy. The guilt was instantaneous. How Arthur managed to ignore that look she would never know. The man must have a heart of iron.

"Stop what," he asked softly.

"Stop running from me," Awen sighed, dulling the edge to her tone a bit. "Just let me try this, alright?"

"Alright," he breathed, closing his eyes and attempting to control his urge to pull away.

"Look at me," Awen whispered, touching a hand to his face.

He flinched slightly, but didn't pull back. He opened his eyes, cloudy with anxiety and something that she couldn't quite discern, but felt reasonably sure it was an expression that mirrored the delightful flutter in her belly perfectly.

"I'm going to distract you now," she smiled and was pleased when he returned her grin with one of his own, albeit smaller ones.

She kissed him softly and before she knew it he had leaned into her touch, closing his eyes as relief washed over him. She kissed him again and moved back a step, towards her bed.

"What are we doing," he breathed between kisses.

"Walking and kissing at the same time," she replied, smiling even as her lips met his own once more.

"Very dangerous," Merlin groaned, keeping his forehead against hers but looking at their path.

"Why's that," Awen asked breathlessly.

"I can barely walk without falling over," he grinned. "How am I supposed to walk when I clearly have much better options at hand?"

"You don't," she replied, as his knees touched her bed. "I can do the walking for both of us."

He laughed then shuttered slightly as she rested her head against his chest. She could feel his heart beating an erratic rhythm against his chest and she wondered if it was his anxiety or her kisses or perhaps an equal part of both behind his reaction.

"Now what," he asked quietly, stiffening and standing stock still as if she might bite him.

"Now we sleep," she answered, pushing him down on the bed before sitting beside him.

He looked terrified and pale, but Awen knew what she was doing would be beneficial to them both.

"Can I hold you," she asked. "Just for tonight? If you don't sleep any better than you have then you can go back to what you did before, but just let me try it."

He nodded slowly, sitting back and resting his head against the thin pillow there. She spread out beside him and pulled him close, noticing the tension in his jaw and they way he tightened his fists. Taking his hand she began to trace lazy patterns against his skin and despite his foreboding the young man didn't last long under her comforting ministrations. Awen was not far behind him and for the first time in days Merlin had a peaceful, dreamless night.


	33. Knight and Day

**Author's Note: **_Hey folks, I'm coming at you live from NYU where I am thoroughly enjoying my school day in my favorite city in the world and am considering heading off to _Joe's Pizza_ to grab a bite after writing this chapter, but it is still up for debate. I just got accosted by a crazy lady wanting me to buy her bookmarks! HAHA! You've got to love New York. Anyways, back to the story! Here is the Chapter 33 and we are almost done! I didn't get nearly as many oohs and ahhs as I thought I would over the last chapter, but that is perfectly all right. Now that their relationship has been established it won't be nearly as sickly cute as the last chapter. And here comes Gawaine once more! By the way, a lot of my chapter titles have pop culture or historical references and I will give snaps to anyone who can guess them. Send me a private message if you think you know! Please REVIEW and hope you all enjoy!_

Gawaine was growing extremely impatient. Of course, he figured that anyone who was being forced to wait for days not knowing the fate of his best friend would be a little frayed around the edges. He had tried to find things to do to keep his mind occupied, but the landscape made this almost impossible. And then there was the damn mist.

He had never been a terribly fearful man and his reputation for being ludicrously brave had followed him all the way from childhood. The mist, though it wasn't particularly terrifying, made him extremely nervous. There was something about the way it seemed to lap at the air, tiny tendrils seeking out the warmth of the living before being forced to swirl back in with it's seething brothers. It almost seemed to call to him, obviously not a tangible voice but something deeper, a fire in his blood that was difficult to ignore. As the days passed by in a dull haze Gawaine found his anxiety growing and he frequently wished that he'd never agreed to come on this quest.

It soon became clear to the knight that there were only so many times he could chop wood or gather water before it became redundant. He currently had enough firewood to last him all winter and had to pour water out of his water skin just to put more in. The last two days he had spent the majority of his time either sleeping or pacing along the edges of the mist as if proving that he would not fall victim by its deceptive voice.

The anxiety was almost bad enough that Gawaine wished Kilgarrah had stayed with him instead of flying off into the wind, turning into a giant dragon shaped cloud as his wings carried him higher. The dragon had been a nuisance at best and Gawaine had quickly grown tired of his cryptic answers and barbed critiques of his character Supposedly, the dragon had somehow touched minds with Merlin and had assured Gawaine that the young man was exhausted, but fine. He had the strangest expression on his face when he'd told the knight of the news, somewhere between worried and grief stricken.

"What," Gawaine had asked instantly, heart seizing with fear. "You just said he was fine! Why do you have that look on your face?"

"I said he was physically fine," Kilgarrah answered gravely. "But I fear that his mental state is precarious.

Gawaine waited impatiently for the dragon to explain in further detail, but as usual the creature wasn't willing to give more than the minimum.

"Care to elaborate, o scaly one," Gawaine asked caustically.

The dragon let out a snakelike hiss and blew smoke from his nostrils at the knight's tone, but Gawaine merely glared at him, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

"The young man has been through a great ordeal," the dragon answered reluctantly. "I warned Arthur that there may be permanent damage caused by Merlin's interaction with the Shadow World and it seems my worst fear has come true. It could be far worse, I suppose, but there is no doubt that the warlock is no longer the same man."

"Your answers only make more questions," Gawaine muttered in frustration, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

"I do not know how to explain," Kilgarrah replied. "His mind is different somehow…more shadowed, tainted by the suffering he experienced there. The scars run deep, I believe. He will need you now more than ever, knight of Camelot."

"What can I do," Gawaine asked. "In case you hadn't noticed I'm sort of emotionally stunted. I don't have much experience in the comforting area. Guinevere should have come with us. She would have been perfect for this."

"As irritating as you are," the dragon replied, tone bordering on fondness. "I stand firm in my decision to bring you. Knowing Merlin he will not want to speak of what occurred any time soon, if ever, so do not worry yourself on that front. It will be your loyalty and your strength that he will need, Gawaine. He needs it now more than ever."

"What about Arthur," Gawaine asked. "He's supposed to be Merlin's best friend, isn't he? Why doesn't Merlin lean on him?"

"I'm afraid things are not so simple as that anymore," the dragon said, shaking his giant head sadly. "This experience has changed their friendship in more ways than I can even begin to see. The darkness has shattered Merlin's trust in Arthur and I worry that their destiny will never come to pass if they cannot mend it."

"But its Merlin and Arthur," Gawaine argued. "They've had rifts before, haven't they? They have always gotten through them all right."

"Perhaps, Knight of Camelot, but you do not realize the depths in which the darkness will go through to break its victims. It uses the forms of those closest to the victim to torture and mutilate the mind. The wounds inflicted may not be real, but they feel as if they are. Having them performed by someone you love and trust only makes the pain of it worse."

"God," Gawaine whispered, paling. "Are you saying that thing made itself look like Arthur?"

The dragon nodded solemnly and Gawaine felt the gorge rising in his throat. Gawaine had long ago accepted that he could never take the place of the king in the young warlock's eyes. Merlin and Arthur had always been a constant, an unchanging variable in their world. Fate had continually tested their bonds and both Merlin and Arthur had risen up to the challenge, though the knight had never expected such an effort from the latter.

The two men had always kept Camelot in balance. Merlin's quiet strength and hidden wisdom was a perfect match to Arthur's ferocity in battle and his calculating intelligence. Merlin had brought out the kinder, more humble side of Arthur that the king had rarely shown before meeting the boy and in return Arthur had made Merlin feel wanted, something he'd never really had in Ealdor. They both had come to rely on each other more than either of them would ever admit and even before he'd learned of their destiny Gawaine had known that if their friendship ever ended Camelot would fall to ruins. Despite this, Gawaine had never actually entertained the thought as a possible reality. He honestly didn't see any situation that would sufficiently destroy their bond enough to make it impossible to make amends. Apparently he had never thought of this.

There had really been nothing left to say to each other after that lovely piece of news and so the dragon had left soon after to bring the news of Merlin's survival to Gaius. There was nothing either of them could do for Merlin and Arthur but wait and see where time would bring them, but Gawaine prayed to whatever gods would listen in the hopes that one of them might make Merlin whole again.

It had been three whole days since the dragon had made contact with Merlin and Gawaine was dangling over the precipice of insanity. He had begun to see shadows moving within the confines of the mist and though none of them had ever crossed the imagined boundary between their world and his Gawaine was convinced that it was only a matter of time. He slept restlessly if he slept at all and found himself dozing off at odd periods throughout the day. At least that way he didn't have to look at the mist.

It was during one of these naps, sometime on the sixth day, that Gawaine suddenly became aware of a presence moving through the fog. Unlike the others it moved steadily forward, large and looming, and Gawaine scrambled for his sword, heart heaving in his chest.

Feeling somewhat braver now that he had his weapon in hand, Gawaine watched the shadow slowly progress when it suddenly shifted and turned into three separate creatures, each guiding something behind them.

It was Arthur who stepped through the mist first, eyes blinking against the sudden sunlight. The man was pale and a little sickly looking, but no worse for wear. Gawaine whooped with joy when he saw his king and Arthur looked up at him and grinned softly.

"Gawaine," he said, wrapping his hand around the man's wrist in greeting. "It's good to see you, old friend."

"Merlin," the knight questioned immediately, straining his eyes to make out the progress of the other two shadows. They were considerably slower.

"He's behind me," Arthur said softly, frowning slightly. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

"Who's the third," Gawaine asked, extremely interested. "Is it one of the Fair Folk? I was hoping to see one."

"Awen," Arthur replied, an honest smile brightening his features. "Merlin's found himself a woman, Gawaine."

"Leave it to Merlin," Gawaine laughed, attempting to hide his anticipation of seeing his friend. "How long did it take for her to swoon? Or did Merlin do the swooning?"

"No swooning for Merlin," Arthur said. "Although, technically he was cheating by already being unconscious."

The man in question suddenly emerged from the roiling fog, his fingers entwined with those of the goddess who led two horses behind her, reigns clutched delicately in a petite fist. Gawaine's mouth might have dropped open, he couldn't say for sure, but Arthur nudged him and muttered quietly, "Stop staring."

It wasn't his fault, of course. Awen naturally had that effect on people. Merlin whispered something to her and she looked up at the knight and smiled, violet eyes meeting muddy brown. He smiled back and then wiped his mouth hurriedly to make sure he hadn't drooled.

Merlin stumbled suddenly and Awen released his hand to put a steadying palm on his chest. Arthur twitched, as if wanting to assist his friend but thinking better of it. The king's eyes were hard with sorrow and loss.

Gawaine had expected Merlin to look near death, but it came as a shock to him all the same. His friend's eyes were glassy, devoid of the spark of mischief and strength that had previously occupied them. He had lost weight, though he'd had none to spare and his cheekbones were hollowed out. Dark circles around the eyes only added to his ghostly appearance and Gawaine found himself wondering if Merlin had died after all and this was merely his shade returning to haunt them.

The young man had recovered from his bout of weakness and came to stand a good four feet from the knight before smiling slightly. Gawaine couldn't help but think that his grin was a dull imitation of what it should have been, but he didn't say anything.

"Hello Gawaine," Merlin said, surprising Gawaine with his wry tone. "I'm glad you could make it to our party. It's been terribly dull without you."

"You know me, Merlin," he laughed. "I make it a point to be fashionably late to everything."

The warlock smiled and this time it seemed genuine though his eyes remained glassy and dull. The knight strode forward to embrace his friend in a hug, noticing but not caring about Arthur's shaking head and alarmed expression. It wasn't until he was inches a way from his friend that Gawaine realized his attempt at a brotherly embrace had caused Merlin to stiffen and flinch away from him.

"Merlin," he said, rather rudely. "What was that?"

Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but Arthur stepped in front of him, taking care not to touch him.

"It doesn't matter what it was," Arthur snapped. "If he doesn't like it then he doesn't like it."

"I wasn't asking you, princess," Gawaine retaliated, all the worry and anxiousness he'd felt over the few days flying back at his king. "Besides, Merlin doesn't need you anymore, does he? You've already ruined the one honest friendship you had."

Gawaine realized his mistake the moment the words left his mouth. He wanted to instantly take them back, but his stupid pride kept him from doing so. He could see Merlin's eyes widen before filling with guilt and self-loathing. Good going, Gawaine thought, not only have you insulted Arthur you hurt Merlin in the process.

"Arthur," the warlock said softly. "He didn't mean that. You know he didn't."

"Quiet," Arthur snapped, forgetting himself and not realizing his servant had jerked back from his tone, eyes suddenly twisted with remembered pain.

"Don't talk to him that way," Gawaine snarled, rage boiling once more.

"You're not his protector, Sir Gawaine. I am."

"And you did a bang up job of it didn't you, sire."

Gawaine wasn't entirely prepared for the punch Arthur threw at him and despite the king's weakness the man could still crack skulls with the best of them. The knight was dazed for a moment, but natural instinct kicked in and Gawaine ducked low, catching the royal in the midriff and pushing him to the ground.

"Stop," he dimly heard Merlin yelling even as he sunk his fist into the side of Arthur's face. "Please stop!"

Neither of them stopped. Arthur kicked the knight off of him and scrambled to his feet, lip bleeding and eyes blazing with fury. The young man snarled and threw himself at the knight, but before the king could reach him Merlin was standing in the middle of them, arms out and palms up in a placating gesture.

"Stop," he said firmly. "This is ridiculous. How can you two act like that? You're supposed to be brothers in arms, aren't you?"

"Move," Arthur snarled at his friend, his fists rising again ready to pummel Gawaine once they got ahold of him.

"Are you going to hit me to," Merlin asked Arthur, eyes a cold mask.

The king jerked back at his words and the anger seemed to rush out of him all at once. Gawaine noticed the distance between the two and watched as Merlin's hands twitched nervously and his eyes tracked Arthur's every movement, as if trying to anticipate a blow. The knight felt even guiltier than before.

"I would never do that to you," Arthur said quietly and for a brief moment Merlin's gaze softened.

"I know," he whispered. "Please don't be angry with each other, alright? Especially not over me. I couldn't stand that."

The two men nodded their agreement over the warlock's head and the moment Merlin had seen their display of peace he sagged in exhaustion.

"Merlin," Awen, who had watched the proceedings wide eyed, whispered, catching the man by the shoulder. "You shouldn't push yourself so much, love. We still have a long way ahead of us."

"Wait," Gawaine said abruptly. "You're coming with us? Don't you have to stay in fairyland or whatever the hell you call this place?"

Merlin snorted quietly and when Awen glared at him reproachfully he merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Its just Gawaine," Merlin said, eyes lighting up slightly as he looked at her. "He doesn't mean it to be rude. He's just an idiot."

"Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor," Gawaine laughed. "Hey, how come she can touch you and I can't?"

"She's prettier than you are."

"Well, if I were a fairy I'd be pretty to."

"She's not a fairy, Gawaine. Please try not to offend the only girl that can tolerate Arthur long enough to actually start liking me."

"If you weren't so completely inept at everything even slightly related to romance then I wouldn't have to get involved," Arthur said, pushing himself into the conversation.

"Hey," Merlin protested. "Nobody said you could join in, sire. Just because you're a king doesn't mean you get to be a busy body."

"Perhaps if you beefed up a bit," Arthur continued as if he hadn't heard his friend. "Woman might like you more."

"You mean like you? No thanks, sire. I hear the women call you thick because of how you look in your armor. You can keep that honor for yourself."

"Merlin! I am not fat!"

"I never said you were, sire. You came to that conclusion on your own."

"Thick implies fat, Merlin."

"Honestly, sire. Don't you know anything? Thick can also imply stupid."

"So I'm either stupid or I'm fat?"

"Don't look at me, sire. We've all got burdens to bear. Mine is being ridiculously charming and handsome."

"Women find me handsome!"

"They also find you thick."

"Merlin!"

"Yes, Lord Thickness?"

"You are a complete idio—"

This was the Merlin Gawaine remembered. The young man had a knack for diffusing most situations with only a word or a look. Not only that but he could switch the atmosphere from hostile to friendly in seconds. He and Arthur had been prepared to tear each other's throats out only moments before but were now acting like nothing had happened. The knight wondered whether Merlin used his magic for this particular gift and made a mental note to ask him.

Gawaine was thrilled to see that as the two men bickered their distance closed slightly and Merlin relaxed a bit, eyes brightening. It seemed that the two of them were safe as long as they stuck to meaningless prattle, but Merlin still flinched slightly whenever Arthur gesticulated too quickly. Arthur must have noticed this because by the time the pair had quit swapping insults the man's movements were calculated and deliberate, making sure Merlin knew what he was doing and why.

Awen seemed as lost as Gawaine did and he jerked his head over to the small patch of cleared grass where the knight had set up camp. She followed him and Merlin watched her go, eyes tracking her as they had Arthur only minutes before, before turning back to Arthur after the king had delivered a particularly snide jab at Merlin's inability to walk without falling over something.

"I didn't mean to offend you earlier," Gawaine said awkwardly, grabbing a large handful of wood from his stack and setting it by the fire pit.

"You didn't," the woman replied, accent strange and lilting. "Although, I would have thought the lack of wings would have given it away."

"It's not like fairies exist of course," Gawaine laughed, but stopped when he found Awen staring at him strangely.

"They do beyond the mists," she replied. "They are horrible creatures."

"I can't believe I am going to ask this, but how so? Aren't they supposed to be beautiful and lovely?"

"Sir Gawaine, their job is to lure travelers from their path and eat them. I think you'll agree that no matter how beautiful they may be they are certainly not lovely."

"No wonder you left," Gawaine muttered, a chill running down his spine.

"Do not think that I left to get away from my home," Awen scolded. "It is a beautiful place, Sir Gawaine and one I love very much."

"Just call me Gawaine," he replied. "So if you loved it so much why did you leave?"

"Because I loved someone else more," she said quietly, looking over at the two men who were still bickering intensely. "And his destiny has not yet been completed. Perhaps one day, when his life is no longer entwined with Arthur's, we will return to my people, but for now the bond between them is too strong."

"Really," the knight asked incredulously. "Their bond looks pretty fragile to me."

"That is because you see only with your eyes. I see their hearts and they aren't finished with each other yet. Its just another road they must travel. They will get there eventually."

"I'm glad he's found you," Gawaine said, entirely genuine.

"Yes," the woman said simply, rising from her perch on one of his stacks. "I am to."

She smiled before turning away and walking gracefully across the clearing, running her hand across Merlin's shoulders before taking his hand and whispering something in his ear. He nodded, suddenly weary, and she led him back to where Gawaine was preparing the rabbit he'd brought down earlier.

Merlin wrinkled his nose at the blood and found a spot as far from the knight's kill as he could. Awen sat back against a stack of wood and patted the ground in front of her for Merlin to sit. The young man sent an embarrassed glance in the knight's direction and blushed furiously, but he did as he was told.

"You've done enough today," Awen whispered. "You need sleep."

Merlin nodded and leaned back so that his head was on her lap. The inhumanly beautiful woman kissed his forehead and when she lifted her head once more the warlock's eyes were closed and they didn't open again.

The three companions ate well and even Arthur had approved of Gawaine's soup, much to the knights surprise. They had woken Merlin from his slumber long enough to inhale his meal before the young man had slipped away into darkness once more. After dinner, Awen told them of her home and the many wonders it held while the two conscious men told her of Camelot and its people.

By the time Gawaine felt tired the fire had burned low and Arthur had long ago succumbed to slumber. He was almost on the verge of sleep himself when he heard a low agonized groan. He sat up in alarm and watched as Merlin thrashed in his sleep, jarring the dozing Fair Folk woman awake. His face was twisted with agony and even from where he was sitting Gawaine could see that his shirt was soaked through with sweat.

"Shhhh," Awen whispered. "It's alright, Merlin. Hush now."

Her words did little to calm him and he whimpered, caught in whatever nightmare that was currently plaguing him. He was muttering something beneath his breath and Gawaine leaned close to hear what it was.

"Arthur," the man sobbed, breath hitching with imagined pain. "Please…please stop…please…it hurts…"

His mutterings died away, but Gawaine heard a pained gasp beside him and realized Arthur had also been jarred from his rest. The king was looking at his friend, in obvious agony, at a loss for what to do. The man clearly wanted to go to him, but wasn't sure what sort of damage he'd cause and so remained seated.

Suddenly, Merlin stiffened, jerked once and was finally released from his terrors by an agonized scream. He sat up and tried to escape Awen's embrace, but she held him tightly, putting her lips by his ear and whispering something. The man immediately went lax, slumping against her, eyes wide and terrified. Gawaine could see his whole body shaking and his friend's breath came in quick gasps.

The woman whispered to the boy soothingly and though the words were not in his language he could read the intent well enough. Merlin's breathing slowed and his shaking subsided as she continued to speak to him. For some odd reason the man's eyes slid slowly over to where Arthur was watching them and he tried to smile encouragingly at him. The king looked away in shame and Merlin frowned.

Deciding to leave his king to his thoughts the warlock turned away and closed his eyes, but almost immediately opened them again.

"I can't," he whispered, shaking his head.

"I'll help you," Gawaine heard Awen murmur.

She began to hum a soothing tune, dancing her fingers across Merlin's hands in soothing circles. Soon the melody became words and though the meaning of her song was once again lost to him he had never heard anything so beautiful. As her fingers caressed his skin and her song continued, Merlin's eyes began to close against his will. He was able to force them open twice, but the third time they slid closed they remained that way.

Gawaine blew out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He was already exhausted and they hadn't even left for Camelot yet.

"If this doesn't get me in the gods good graces then I think I'm a lost cause," he muttered, rolling over and finally falling asleep.


	34. Speaking in Tongues

**Author's Note: **_Thanks for all reviews you guys! I loved them! RocknVaughn to answer your question it has been exactly six days that Gawaine has been in the clearing. He arrived there right before Merlin and Arthur took the third test and spent three of those days with Kilgarrah before Kilgarrah left and he spent another three days there. As for your other question, I will definitely be writing a short story on the Awen's decision to leave home. I wanted to give it the time it deserved so I decided to save it for a different time. Anyways, I already have the first chapter of the next story more or less planned in my head and have decided upon the title as well. Anyways, here is the second to last chapter. REVIEW AND ENJOY!_

The past week had been a different sort of hell for Merlin. They were on the last day and a half of their journey back to Camelot and Merlin wished for nothing more than the sight of the castle spires rising high into the skylines, but knew that he would have to wait a little longer.

Their trip had gone fairly smoothly so far all things considered with only two or three minor hiccups along the way. One such hiccup came on the third day of travel when Gawaine suddenly decided that he was going to race Arthur even though the king had refused multiple times, his mood consistently foul and getting worse with each passing day. The young knight had cared very little for his king's dismissals and promptly took it upon himself to show the prat what he was missing. He went careening into the forest whooping loud enough for the whole forest to hear. It wasn't long after that the group heard a thud and a curse, followed by the thump of a collapsing body. Gawaine had knocked himself out on low hanging tree branch and it took three precious hours of travel time to get him started again.

The other two were almost as bad, but luckily nobody had been hurt. The first came when Merlin and Awen's horse got stuck in the mud while crossing a particularly treacherous streambed. The animal grew frantic, bucking as much as the mud would allow, but unfortunately it was enough to unseat the warlock who fell with a splat into the mud beside the horse, having to scramble backwards to keep clear of the panicked creature. The young man had been covered in mud and when he'd gone a little farther downstream to wash himself he came face to face with a rather terrifying mother bear and her two cubs. At first the bear was merely curious about him, sauntering closer even while growling to keep him at bay in case he was a threat. Then Arthur had shown up and everything had gone to hell, as usual. They were both lucky to escape with their lives and Merlin had the strongest urge to smack his king for his stupidity. Honestly, what exactly was his plan when he had run, yelling as loud as he could, at a giant mother bear and her cubs with only a sword to protect them? After that, however, nothing major had occurred even as they passed villages and towns that were not entirely convinced Camelot had a place in their world.

They had passed through enemy territory easily enough thanks to the cloaks Nan had given each of them, grudgingly throwing in another for Gawaine. The cloaks were a piece of magic Merlin longed to try and planned on doing so the moment he felt up to it. They were items of invisibility of a sort, but instead of making a person intangible it granted them the ability to be strangely uninteresting. A hostile soldier could be looking right at them and while they were entirely visible they passed beneath the radar as though the soldier had been convinced they were supposed to be there. It was genius.

If it hadn't been for recent events Merlin might have enjoyed the trip, but found that even though the air was pleasantly warm and the land relatively simple to traverse he was miserable.

Awen tried to engage him in conversation and though Merlin responded appropriately his heart just wasn't in it. He kept staring at the back of his king's head hoping that the man would turn around and say something, but Arthur kept his eyes firmly on the path in front of him.

The king had barely spoken a word to him since his nightmare. He would occasionally bark an order or assist him when they were traversing a particularly rough patch of land, but other than that Arthur had remained as silent as the grave. The warlock was aware of what Arthur was doing, but it didn't make it any easier to accept and Merlin frequently found himself wanting to throw something at the dolt's head just to get a reaction out of him.

In Arthur's mind he was alienating himself from his friend, thinking that he was helping Merlin heal, but the consequences of his actions were the complete opposite. Arthur's silence only made the young man's anxiety grow stronger and though he'd tried to start conversations with his friend, Arthur had found ways to shut down his attempts completely, unknowingly pushing the warlock to his breaking point. Why didn't his king understand that Merlin needed Arthur to be himself? He knew he was never going to get anywhere with silence, but that was exactly what Arthur gave him.

Even worse was the fact that with Arthur refusing to speak Gawaine felt he had to step up and take the duty for himself. The knight had babbled incessantly the entire time they'd been traveling and though Merlin knew that his friend was merely trying to ease the awkwardness of the situation he desperately wished the man would stop. His head was constantly pounding and his horse's unsteady canter only made it worse. And he was so exhausted that by the end of the day, come rain or shine, Merlin had passed out in Awen's arms the moment she'd sat down.

There was no doubt in Merlin's mind that he loved the Fair Folk woman, but found himself asking why she was returning that affection so completely. The two of them were alike in many ways, but there were moments when Merlin found himself falling short of what he thought she deserved. The woman was the most beautiful creature to ever walk the face of the earth and he was scrawny and rather plain looking, or so he'd always believed. The young man had seen her spar with Arthur and she'd wiped the floor with him every time and had even managed to hit the blindside of a tree over 10 yards away with her bow. Merlin wasn't exactly the physical type and had never really put much effort into learning the art of swordsmanship and archery as other boys had done and for some strange reason he felt weak in her presence.

Besides, he didn't really know how to have a relationship with a girl. There had been Freya, of course, but their brief romance had been a vast whirlwind of deceptions and trickery. There had been so many factors to take into consideration the least of which being Merlin's inability to tell Arthur and culminating in the fact that the woman was cursed, doomed to spend the rest of her life killing and maiming. He decided that despite his love for her and the lingering ache in his heart, Freya might not be the best model of what a proper relationship should be like. He'd even kissed a girl back in Ealdor once, but she'd giggled too much and Merlin had found the entire situation uncomfortable.

With Awen it was different and not just because she didn't giggle when they kissed. For the first time in his life Merlin was entirely capable of finding love with a woman from his own magical world without fear of retribution or punishment. He wouldn't have to lie to Arthur and he was grateful, but he wasn't sure where to proceed from there. He wanted to ask Arthur, knowing that the young king had plenty of experience with women, having watched him flirt shamelessly with any pretty woman that came to court for years before he'd finally fallen in love with Gwen. The king, however, was remaining mute and the warlock didn't dare ask Gawaine. He really didn't want to have to scrub the memory of Gawaine's answer from his mind, but knew he would have to if he asked the man, unless he wanted to blush furiously every time he even glanced at Awen, let alone touched her.

Then there were the nightmares. They occurred on a nightly basis no matter what efforts Merlin would go through to keep them at bay. Each time he'd wake up screaming he could feel Arthur slipping farther and farther away from him, lost in a guilt that wasn't his to bear. Awen would always manage to calm him again and eventually the warlock would lose himself to peaceful sleep, but by that time the damage had already been done.

Merlin was dreading the night to come and grew increasingly anxious as the sun slowly slid behind the mountains in the west. Awen must have sensed his discomfort for she pulled him close and once again Merlin was thankful that the woman had insisted he ride with her. At first, he'd argued that he was perfectly capable of riding a horse on his own and she had conceded the point rather easily, at least until he'd almost passed out after the efforts of hoisting himself up into the saddle.

Thankfully she hadn't said a word about his failure and had merely grasped his hand and shoulder to assist him in climbing up on her own mount. When he was fully seated he had found sleep nearly irresistible and his head had almost immediately lolled against her shoulder, trusting the woman's considerable strength and riding ability to keep him upright.

Even his inability to remain awake for very long was a frustration to him even though Nan had assured him that sleep was needed to heal his body and mind correctly. A year ago Merlin would have agreed to just about anything if it meant that he could take a nap free of interruption, but now that it was the last thing he wanted to do his body seemed hell bent on defying him.

"We should rest here for the night," Arthur said quietly, jarring Merlin from his thoughts.

He looked around them to find that they were a little past Ealdor, approaching Camelot from the east instead of the west. He thought about seeing his mother, but decided against it. A mother shouldn't have to see her son broken and desolate and he realized with a sharp pang in his heart that it might be awhile before he could see her again.

Awen helped him from his horse and though he tried to help set up camp she had immediately ordered him to rest. He was secretly grateful because he wasn't sure how long he would be able to keep his eyes open. He curled up on his side and lost time for a while, not waking until the sun had set low in the sky.

Looking around at the hastily set up camp, Merlin was surprised to discover that he was alone with Arthur, the young man trying futilely to use a flint stone to light their fire. He cursed with the effort and Merlin instantly felt sorry for him.

"Where are the others," he asked as he slowly made his way to stand a little ways apart from Arthur.

"Hunting," the man grunted, still striking the flint uselessly. "They said they would be back in a couple of hours."

"It's almost dark," Merlin muttered. "They should hurry."

"I'm well aware of what time of day it is, Merlin," Arthur snapped, before throwing the stone down in frustration.

"Here," he said, walking slowly over to the king. "Let me help you."

He said a word and his eyes flashed gold causing the wood to burst into flame, the heat of it licking against Merlin's cheeks.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," Arthur said stonily.

"What," Merlin said, surprised his king had even acknowledged his words.

"You're magic, Merlin. You shouldn't do that this close to Camelot."

Merlin was confused. Arthur already knew about his unique skillset and he wondered why he should have to hide it. Perhaps his king had been giving him the silent treatment for a different reason than what he'd thought. Merlin knew that his nightmares had caused his friend pain, but he also realized that the closer the group had gotten to Camelot the angrier Arthur had become.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, stepping back a few feet. "Are you angry with me?"

The king was silent for a moment, glaring into the flames and Merlin felt a chill pass down his spine.

"I don't want to do this now," Arthur ground out between clenched teeth. "Not while you are like this."

"Arthur, please talk to me. I can't stand this anymore. I'm trying, sire, I really am. Just tell me what is wrong!"

"Tomorrow we reach Camelot, Merlin. Do you understand what that means?"

"Obviously not," Merlin breathed. "What does it mean?"

"It means I have to deal with you having magic," Arthur shouted. "This whole time I've been so worried about keeping you alive that I haven't had time to really think about it much. But…you lied to me, Merlin. Can you see how that creates a dilemma for me?"

"I thought we'd talked about this," Merlin whispered. "You said we'd figure it out."

"And we will," Arthur sighed. "I just don't know how. Merlin, for years I have put my trust in you, perhaps not right away, but I usually come around to it. But you…you don't trust me at all."

"That's not true, sire. I do trust—"

"Then come here, Merlin. Stand right beside me. Since you trust me you should know that I won't hurt you."

"Arthur, that's not fair. It is not the same thing."

"It is, Merlin. It is the same thing. It's all about trust and you don't have it. You didn't trust me enough to tell me about your magic and you don't trust me enough now."

"It wasn't like that, Arthur. You're getting the issues confused."

"Am I? How am I supposed to put my trust in someone who doesn't trust me? That's what it all comes down to doesn't it?"

"Why are you doing this," Merlin asked. "You said it was fine."

"I said your magic was fine, Merlin. I never said that it was okay that you lied to me."

"I told you, Arthur. I only did it with the best—"

"Intentions, I know," Arthur interrupted. "If I didn't believe that then I wouldn't have bothered saving you, Merlin. But that doesn't make the issue go away. You must have lied hundreds of times to keep your secrets safe. I told you that I started a list, remember?"

"Of things that didn't add up," Merlin whispered. "I remember."

"Well, that list keeps growing and I find myself wondering how many lives could have been saved if you'd just told me what was going on."

"What," Merlin gasped, horrified. "How could you even suggest that?"

"What am I supposed to think, Merlin," Arthur snarled causing Merlin to flinch. "I think of all these things and I have no idea what role you had to play in them, but I know without a doubt you were there. And maybe if you'd just told me then—"

No," Merlin snapped, anger boiling out of him. "I haven't spent all these years pushing myself to the brink to allow you to put people's blood on my hands that don't belong there. It is because of me that Camelot still stands, Arthur. You should remember that."

Merlin was angry and hurt that Arthur was doing this to him now. In some ways he understood what was occurring, but had expected it at a later point in time. Perhaps when he had more time to heal, but his king was determined to get it all out in the open now, right when Merlin was at his most fragile. Part of him wanted to think that Arthur had planned it that way on purpose, but he realized how silly that was. He also remembered that Arthur had warned him away from the subject, but he'd refused to listen and now that the lid had been removed the emotions came streaming out like steam from a pot.

Arthur had been dealing with these emotions from the very beginning and had bottled them up inside for the past two weeks. Deep down Merlin had known this conversation was coming, just as he knew that it could possibly turn ugly, even though he prayed it wouldn't. He wasn't sure their relationship could handle a fight at this particular junction in time.

"You say that you've saved Camelot," Arthur said quietly, "But how do I know that? I feel like I don't even know the real you, Merlin. I thought I did, but then you ripped the rug out from under my feet. It's like…we're in opposite timelines. You have one version of events and I have another, but mine is wrong. Do you have any idea how that feels, Merlin?"

"I never wanted to lie to you," Merlin said lamely. "I just—once we got to the point that I felt I could tell you I was already so deep in the lie that I couldn't bring myself to do it."

"I know," Arthur said. "But…there is always a price to secrets, Merlin."

"Believe me," Merlin replied, sorrow coloring his voice. "I've paid my dues, Arthur. More than you'll ever know."

"That's just it…isn't it? I don't know because you haven't told me. How many things have you known about that I haven't? Morgana, Agrivaine, the dragon, the troll….the list goes on and on, Merlin! When does it stop?"

Arthur was breathing heavily and Merlin was shocked to realize that the man was trying to hold back tears. The warlock wondered just how deeply he'd hurt his friend and if Arthur could ever truly put his faith in him again. The king was right when he'd said that it all came down to trust and both men, in some way or another, had been broken by the other.

"I don't know what to say to you to make it right," Merlin whispered, shrugging his shoulders listlessly. "I can't take back what I've done any more than I can make you trust me again. I don't know what to do, Arthur."

"But you're supposed to," Arthur said softly. "You're supposed to tell me how I can make this better—you've always told me how to make things better."

"Arthur," Merlin pleaded. "We're exhausted. We can talk about all of this later…just please…let it go for now."

"I can't let it go," Arthur shouted, angry again. "Why can't you get this through your thick head? Right now, I'm your friend, Merlin. We can talk this through without anything getting in the way. Tomorrow—tomorrow I'm your king and you're my servant. Beginning tomorrow, duty is what matters, don't you see? I can't be both…at least not when it comes to this."

"I don't—I don't know—"

"Merlin," Arthur cried, anger and desperation fighting for dominance in his voice. "How can I fight for you if I don't know you? I just…I just want to know you. The real you, Merlin. Not the person you've pretended to be all these years."

Merlin was stunned. His best friend, the king, was willing to fight for him. Oh, he'd known that Arthur would do anything and everything he could to ensure his servant's physical safety, even if this past trip hadn't proved that. Merlin knew that Arthur was implying a battle of an entirely different nature than what they were used to and even though the king hadn't said the exact words the warlock could read the worry in his eyes.

Arthur wasn't planning to fight for him on a battlefield or with sword and shield. His king wasn't planning on going to battle with mercenaries, creatures from nightmares, or evil sorcerers. The man intended to fight for him on the hardest frontier of them all…home. Merlin knew from the beginning that there would be strong opposition from extremely prominent members of the court and even many of the peasants, but had never really found a way around that.

Perhaps if Arthur had been firmly cemented in his kingship then he would have no problem convincing his people to accept a force that had been outlawed and believed dangerous for over twenty years. Arthur was new to his throne, however, and though the people loved him he could easily be usurped if he overstepped the people's unsaid boundaries for what they perceived as acceptable actions for their new sovereign. Such an occurrence was an unspoken fear among all kings and Merlin suddenly understood what Arthur was trying to get through to him.

Arthur was prepared to fight tooth and nail for his friend and his gifts on a battlefield filled with politics that the king was still figuring out. The king was extremely adept at playing his chances correctly at any game, but was suddenly facing opponents with an ally he did not know and was therefore unreliable. How could Arthur plead his case if the man didn't truly know, without a shadow of a doubt, what his case was worth pleading for? If Arthur played the wrong hand it could mean the end for both of them and subsequently the end for Camelot.

"You finally figured it out, haven't you," Arthur asked, eyes watching Merlin closely.

"Yes," Merlin breathed. "It was your own fault it took this long, Arthur. You went the long way round."

"True enough," Arthur agreed. "All of that was just a precursor…you know, things I've wanted to say to you for weeks, but couldn't because you were to busy being a girl and dying on me."

"Weren't you the one crying over my lifeless body not too long ago, sire? I think that makes you a bigger girl than I am."

"I knew that was going to come back and bite me in the ass," the king muttered and Merlin laughed, before going quiet and serious.

"Arthur, I'm not a different person, you know. I'm still me just with a few added perks, I suppose. They don't change who I am…if anything they've made me that way, sire."

"I know this, Merlin. It's not that I don't trust who you are or strangely, even what you are. What I question is what you've done and how you've done it. I'm walking into this blind, old friend."

Merlin was quiet for a long time, knowing that Arthur would require a leap of faith from the warlock he wasn't sure he was ready to give. Even the thought of performing the act sent chills up his spine and nausea writhing through his belly. Yet, as he stood there in silence, aware of Arthur's overwhelming presence and his watchful gaze upon his face, Merlin came to a conclusion that would hopefully begin to heal the wounds and the distance between the two friends. The darkness had used Arthur to inflict great pain and suffering on him, true enough, but Arthur, the real Arthur, had also come to his rescue in ways the warlock would have never believed possible for his king. The man had braved magic forests, dragons, wraiths, sorcery at its foulest, and even another dimension all because he'd wanted to save his friend.

Even now, though he admitted that his own trust had been breached, Arthur was willing to fiercely protect his servant from people he had considered friends and allies his entire life. He was willing to change laws and go against the traditions of his own father to make a place for Merlin in his life and by his side, as he had been for nearly a decade.

A gesture of faith in his king would be difficult, he knew, but with Arthur willing to sacrifice so much of himself and his beliefs for Merlin's well being, the warlock also knew that it was the least he could do. And so, steeling himself against the fear and the painful memories that threatened to tear him apart, Merlin took cautious steps towards his friend and his king before working up the courage to stand inches a way from him and put a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Merlin," Arthur huffed out, surprised at his friend's sudden touch. "What are you doing?"

"Quiet," Merlin said, grinding out the words between his teeth. "Just…quiet."

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, horrified as his friend's anxiety began to who through. "Stop this, alright? You're shaking."

The king began to pull away from him, but Merlin dug his fingers into Arthur's shoulder and the man stopped.

"No," Merlin rasped. "Please Arthur, I need to do this. "

Merlin could feel his heart pounding wildly in fear, but he only dug his fingers in deeper in response. He saw Arthur flinch slightly and the warlock relaxed his hold, but didn't pull away. He worked on steadily controlling his breathing, drawing air in through his nose and out through his mouth while going over every memory he had of his time with Arthur.

"Are you alright," Arthur asked softly, own muscles tense beneath his skin in case he needed to help his friend.

"Yes," Merlin replied shakily. "Sire, I want you to try something. Now, don't make a big deal out of it or anything but I want you to hug me."

"Merlin," Arthur said in alarm. "We've talked about hugs, haven't we? Only if we've made it through perilous situations and only if I am the giver of said embraces ca—"

"That is why I am asking you to give it," Merlin snapped, anxiety overruling his filter for a moment. "Sire, I understand I just…I need to know that I can do it. And I…"

"And you what, Merlin?"

"And I need you to know that I trust you, sire. I always have."

Arthur didn't respond in words, but Merlin suddenly found his king's arms wrapped around him in a friendly, albeit manly, embrace. The anxiety battered against his willpower and the young man stiffened slightly, but he didn't push away.

"Don't let go," he gasped out, aware that his thin frame was shaking worse than ever. "It will pass…it has to."

Arthur tightened his arms slightly and as the moments passed the warlock found he could breathe easier, his heart slowing marginally and his body's shudders calming enough so that he didn't feel like he was vibrating like a pitching fork. The anxiety still roiled in his stomach, but the waves of panic were dying down as the seconds went by.

The warlock pulled back as slowly as he could and Arthur released him. Both men sat down tiredly and looked at each other before smiling slightly.

"You ever tell anyone about this and you'll be polishing my boots for weeks," Arthur said gruffly, trying to hide his own emotions.

The young king lightly punched his friend in the shoulder, pausing slightly before contact to get Merlin's nodded approval.

"See," the warlock said breathlessly. "Getting better already, sire. Soon you can go back to hitting me with fake swords."

"I don't think I'll be doing that for awhile, Merlin. Too much of a chance you'd do something in revenge."

"It's a possibility," Merlin agreed. "Arthur, I want to tell you everything if you are willing to listen. I don't care how long it will take…you deserve to know."

"Thank you," Arthur whispered, staring into the flames.

"Where do I begin? Ah, the first time I walked into Camelot—"

The two men talked well into the night as Merlin retold the events of the previous years from his side of things. Even when Gawaine and Awen returned from hunting, laden with a deer and a few fish, the pair knew not to interrupt the conversation occurring between them. Awen was thrilled to see them sitting side by side, shoulders touching, and she smiled knowing that, though he still needed time to heal, her warlock had found himself again.

Merlin talked until his voice had gone dry and hoarse, but continued on until he'd gone over everything. He told of his meeting with the great dragon and of Gaius. He told of Mordred and his many magical encounters. He spoke of the time he'd been poisoned and his role in getting Arthur home safely. He told Arthur of his first time using magic and its effects on his life in Ealdor. He teased his king mercilessly about their first fight in the marketplace and the first time he'd changed into Dragoon in order to save Gwen from certain death. He told his king why he released the dragon and of the encounters he'd had with Kilgarrah since that moment. He told Arthur of Freya and his love for her.

There was only one thing that Merlin kept a secret from his king and he felt right in doing so. He had decided from the very beginning of the conversation that he was not going to sully Uther's name anymore than he already had. Arthur deserved to have a father he could believe in and perhaps, one day, when he was ready, Merlin would tell Arthur of Uther's role in the death of his mother.

Light was beginning to creep over the tops of the tree's when the warlock had told all there was to tell and though he was exhausted he felt like a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. The king had barely interrupted the entire time he'd been speaking and Merlin had no clue where the direction of his thoughts were taking them, but wasn't horribly concerned. After all, his king didn't seem angry and that was a giant step in the right direction.

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, after five agonizing minutes. "I think it's time we go home and rescind some laws, don't you?"

"You know, sire, I think that is the best idea you've ever had."


	35. From History to Legend

**Author's Note: **_I am sitting out on my roof as I write this final chapter and I am both thrilled and saddened to be at the end of this story. I want to thank all of you who have read and favorited and reviewed this and let you know that your support has been amazing and an integral part of this story's creation. I also want to let you know that I will be posting chapters for the next story shortly…if you haven't followed me as an author that is fine…just look up the story Aftershocks which is what the next chapter in this series will be called. I will also be posting a short story about a prank Merlin plays on his king and the story of Awen's decision to leave with Merlin. Speaking of our Fair Folk friend, Awen will continue to be a major player in my stories because Merlin deserves some loving, damn it! Anyways, please REVIEW because its my birthday and it is the last chapter of the story! Happy reading!_

There was a celebration the day King Arthur and his travel weary companions arrived back in Camelot. The people of the Lower Town had seen their sovereign first and the news had spread like wildfire from poor to rich alike. They crowded around the gates, flags with Camelot's crest waving like beacons to lead their king home, and waited impatiently for Arthur to make his way into their midst.

Arthur, of course, wished for nothing more than a large meal, a hot bath, and a soft bed where he could sleep all of his troubles away with his loving wife at his side. He'd missed Gwen desperately while he'd been away, but now that he was so close to seeing her the dull ache of longing had turned fierce and burned in his chest. He was touched that his people had come out to meet him, but was aware that it would only delay him longer and he wished he could set duty aside and go galloping through their ranks and throw himself into Guinevere's arms. Yet, as he'd told Merlin, Arthur was a king once more and a king had a duty to his people before anyone else, even his wife.

He forced himself to ride through the throng of people, stopping here and there to call out words of greeting, careful to keep his weary smile plastered firmly on his grimy face. He accepted gifts of all shapes and sizes, though he felt slightly guilty about taking them knowing that the givers had little themselves. He knew, however, that if he didn't take them he would be deeply offending those that had only wished to show their love and affection for their king the only way they could.

Reaching a slight reprieve in the line of well wishers Arthur turned to find Merlin and Gawaine. Gawaine had already ditched his horse and was happily chatting up a barmaid who had suddenly taken an interest in him. Arthur shook his head, but smiled as he did so, having grown strangely fond of the knight and his antics over the past week. Merlin was stuck farther back, face pale beneath the grime and Arthur could tell that his friend didn't particularly care for the amount of people surrounding him nor their proximity to him. Awen, who had donned her hooded cloak in order to hide her less than human features, was attempting to control her horse while keeping a firm grip on the warlock's shoulder lest he become overwhelmed and fall.

Arthur fought his way back to them and took hold of the reigns, leading the horse himself while allowing Awen to tend to Merlin. The younger man's eyes were closed tight, jaw clenching and unclenching as his anxiety took over, but Arthur was able to quickly maneuver them through the worst of the crowd without any incidents.

Merlin smiled at him gratefully and the king grinned back before ordering the young man to bed. He promised the warlock that they would talk the next morning after Merlin had a good night's sleep and a decent meal. He also knew that Gaius would fix the man up and would probably spend the next few days switching between berating him for his stupidity and praising him for his courage. The man would be good as new in no time flat once the court physician got a hold of him.

Arthur wound his way up the path, heart pounding painfully as the castle gates came closer and closer. He was forced to stop once or twice in order to respond to his people's reaction over his return, but before he knew it he had reached the top of the road. He was so ready to see Guinevere he could barely stand it any longer.

The woman in question seemed even more anxious than her husband for Arthur had barely dismounted before his wife was crashing into him, clutching him to her desperately and yelling at him all at the same time.

"I told you," she cried. "I told you not to go, didn't I? How could you be so stupid, Arthur? I thought I'd lost you! I'd thought I'd lost both of you!"

He pulled her back from him, holding her shoulders and studying her pretty face, stained with tears.

"God," he forced out huskily. "I've missed you so much."

He pulled her into a tight embrace and kissed her with all the passion and desperation of a man saying his final farewells. When they both drew back again they were panting and Leon, who had been watching from on top of the stairs, turned away to hide his grin.

"Not fair," Gwen whispered, touching her forehead to her husbands. "You always kiss me when I'm mad at you and then I can't be mad at you anymore."

"It's a gift," the king replied. "Handed down to Pendragon men from generation to generation."

She slapped him playfully and he laughed, languishing in the feel of her in his arms.

"How are you," she asked him. "I mean, how are you really?"

"Exhausted," he sighed. "Hunting trips can take a lot out of a man. And so can warlocks with a knack for scaring you half to death."

"How is he, Arthur? Gaius said it was bad."

"Gaius wasn't lying, Gwen. I—I've never been more terrified in my life. I thought I was going to lose him. I don't know what I would have done if I had."

"And his magic?"

Arthur looked around him and found several members of court standing nearby, listening in on their conversation. At least some of them had the decency to pretend they weren't eavesdropping.

"Who all knows," Arthur asked his wife quietly.

"Only the knight's, myself, and Gaius," Guinevere replied. "Why?"

"There are things Merlin and I need to discuss before we make the entire kingdom privy to his special talents, all right? We can't run into this with our eyes closed hoping we don't run into anything, Gwen. We have to do this right or it's going to back fire quite spectacularly."

"I understand," his wife whispered. "Go and get some food and a bath. I'll be waiting for you so we can talk in private."

"Thank you," Arthur whispered, kissing her softly. "You have no idea how much I am going to need you these next few months."

"You've always needed me, Arthur. But, it's nice to hear you admit it."

Arthur smiled before reluctantly leaving his wife to clean the dirt from his skin and feed the aching hunger in his belly. He bathed quickly, barely giving the young man he'd borrowed from the kitchens time to pour the fire heated water into the wooden basin before he was jumping in and scrubbing himself clean. He opted to take his meal in his bedroom rather than eat in the castle dining room and was on his way to meet Gwen when he ran into Gaius.

"Arthur," the old man said pleasantly. "It is good to see you safe, sire."

"Thank you," the king replied, entirely aware that his mouth was full of pheasant. "How's Merlin?"

"Sleeping," Gaius answered his tone light but his eyes dark. "He does not look well, Arthur."

"He'll be alright," Arthur reassured. "He's already looking loads better than he did before."

"That is very reassuring," the physician noted dryly. "Perhaps you can settle something for me, sire. The Fair Folk girl…I feel like there is something going on between the two of them, but Merlin refuses to respond to my inquiries. It seems he takes great joy in keeping me in the dark on this particular subject."

"I wish I could help you, Gaius. But I've given up hope of ever understanding what Merlin does."

"I suppose you're both in on it, then? Wonderful."

"Don't worry Gaius. You'll find out soon enough. I hope you don't find me rude, but Gwen is waiting for me. We have much to discuss as I'm sure you know."

"Of course, sire. And…before you go I wanted to thank you."

"For?"

"Well, for saving his life Arthur. And for…your acceptance."

"There is little else I can do when it comes to him, Gaius. Know that for the future and try not to keep secrets from me any more, yeah?"

"Understood, sire. It will not happen again."

Arthur watched Gaius turn away from him and continue on his way down the staircase to his own chambers. He smiled then remembered who was waiting for him in their chambers and all but sprinted the rest of the way there.

As promised Guinevere was waiting for him in their room and the moment he entered she was pushing him down into a chair at the small table in their chambers. She poured him a cool glass of water and he drank it down greedily, not realizing how thirsty he'd been. She continued to bustle around the room trying to make things perfect for him, but Arthur gently took hold of her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap.

"Stop that," he admonished gently, running a tender hand through her hair. "Just sit with me please."

"Sorry," she replied, smiling slightly. "Old habits die hard."

Arthur laughed softly and kissed her forehead. Gwen shifted and moved to a chair of her own, staring at her husband as he began to eat heartily.

"Arthur," Gwen whispered. "What are you going to do?"

Arthur looked up at her, taking a moment to wipe his mouth and to think of his answer.

"I honestly don't know yet," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "There is so much we have to take into account the least of which being the people's reaction. And I can't just decide to make magic legal without rules and guidelines…there has to be consequences to harmful sorcery, but I know so little about it that I don't know what should qualify. Merlin is going to have a lot of work to do these next few months."

"Do you think he is up to it?"

"I'm not sure, Gwen. This trip…it's been hard on both of us, but Merlin especially. The darkness tore him up inside and it used me to do it."

"Arthur," she gasped. "You didn't hurt him—"

"No," Arthur answered, horrified. "That isn't what I meant. The darkness made itself look like me, Guinevere. I tried everything I could to save him and it nearly killed me. I feel inadequate and completely out of my league. What if something like this happens again? I'm not strong enough to save him."

"That's not true," Gwen whispered. "You weren't prepared for a situation like this. Hopefully there won't be a next time, but if there is you'll know how to handle it better."

"Perhaps," Arthur muttered, suddenly losing his appetite.

"Look at me Arthur Pendragon," his wife said to him fiercely, holding his face between her hands and turning it towards her. "You are as strong as you believe you are, you know. Merlin has believed in you from the very beginning and he still does. He trusts you completely, Arthur. You're people trust you, your knights trust you, and I trust you. You will make this work…you always do."

"I'm terrified," he whispered to her. "I've never met an opponent like this before. I'm completely out of my league."

"Maybe that's true, but you are forgetting something, love."

"What's that?"

"You have Merlin."

"Yes," Arthur said, laughing softly. "I do indeed. The man is…powerful, to say the least. He practically destroyed the forest, Gwen. I'll tell you one thing…I feel sorry for anyone who attempts to attack Camelot with Merlin protecting it."

"I know," Gwen smiled. "I saw what he did, though I didn't know what it was at the time."

"It was a bit frightening to be honest."

"I wouldn't think Merlin could ever be frightening," Gwen said, frowning slightly.

"Maybe not servant Merlin, but warlock Merlin can do things I've never even thought possible before. It's so effortless for him, Gwen. And we haven't even begun to cover all the things he's capable of. I don't want to think about the possibility of him ever going dark, but recent events are sort of forcing me into a corner."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know, Guinevere. If the darkness had won, and it nearly did, we would be dealing with a force that none of us would have a prayer of defeating. As hard as it is to think about I can't ignore the possibility of something like this happening again and there has to be some sort of contingency plan."

"Have you talked to Merlin about this?"

"Not yet. I thought it prudent to allow him to rest before we get into the hard semantics of what we are going to do."

"Probably a wise course of action."

"I have no doubt its crossed Merlin's mind as well. I'm sure he'll breach the subject before I will."

"Maybe that's for the better. It might be easier for both of you if you let him take the lead in this. After all, he is the warlock."

"I have become well aware of that fact over the past few days. If it wasn't for Awen I would have been—"

"Who is Awen?"

"Oh," Arthur laughed. "I forgot to tell you about our new houseguest. You'll like her, I think. At least, I hope you will. Merlin would be devastated if you didn't."

"Arthur, sometimes you can be elusive as Merlin. He's been a bad influence on you."

"Sorry, Gwen. Awen is a member of the Fair Folk, a sort of priestess or something. She and Merlin…well, uh…they became real friendly while we were away."

"Friendly? As in love?"

"Yes," Arthur smiled. "Merlin's fallen in love for the first—well, not the first I suppose. There was Freya before her."

"Freya?"

"A Druid girl he fell in love with," Arthur replied, his smile fading. "She was killed…I killed her…I didn't know who she was at first, but it was still me who delivered the final blow."

"You're not making any sense, Arthur."

"Do you remember the girl that turned into a monster every night?"

"Yes, I remember her very well."

"That was Freya, Gwen. I didn't know."

"Did Merlin?"

"Not at the time, but he figured it out and was trying to save her. Perhaps find a way to release her from her curse. He loved her so much he was willing to leave Camelot to do it and I took her from him."

"Arthur," Gwen snapped. "Stop this at once! You are blaming yourself for things you have no control over. Surely Merlin never held you accountable for it."

"No," the king whispered. "But, he's Merlin. His ability to forgive and forget is almost inhuman."

"Perhaps," Gwen replied. "But he also see's what you refuse to."

"Which is?"

"That you are a brave and noble man who is willing to sacrifice everything for the safety and happiness of others."

"Honestly," Arthur coughed after a moment. "You and Merlin both have a knack for knocking me speechless. It really isn't fair."

"Life never is," Gwen laughed. "I'm glad Merlin found someone to be happy with."

"That seems to be the general consensus."

Arthur washed down a particularly large bite of pheasant with another glass of water, watching as his wife lit a fire in the small pit on the far side of their rooms. The heat licked pleasantly against his face and combined with the comfortably full feeling in his stomach, forced Arthur's eyelids to droop suddenly.

"I forgot how tired I was," the king mumbled.

"I didn't," Gwen replied, gently taking his elbow and guiding him over to the bed.

The young man slipped of his boots and overcoat, sighing as he sunk down into the familiar warmth of his blankets. He pulled Guinevere down with him and pulled her close to him, relishing in the feel of her body next to his. Even now, months after their marriage, he still delighted in every little thing she did.

The comforting indigo depths of sleep called to him like a siren, singing a melody made just for him, guiding him to a place filled with comfort and love. Guinevere's arms around him always reduced him to this and he relinquished his hold on reality without hesitation.

He awakened, many hours later, to the sound of hushed voices coming from somewhere near the fireplace. He listened closely, careful to show no signs of being awake, and was surprised to hear Gwen's gasp of delight followed by a small laugh from his once servant.

The king turned slightly to watch as Merlin entertained his two female companions with a bit of harmless magic and Arthur was immediately struck by the beauty of what the warlock was conjuring. He was creating shapes within the flames, horses galloping on smoky plains, mermaids singing from within fiery depths, a dragon streaming across an ember filled sky.

His wife, the Fair Folk woman, and his warlock were laughing, taking joy that was both simple and breathtaking, out of the man's show of power. Arthur felt his heart surge with something akin to pride at the two people he considered to be the most important in his life and the newer, stranger ally he felt quite sure would come to mean a great deal to him as well.

Arthur hadn't truly believed in his destiny, at least not with any certainty, and had never believed himself capable of undertaking a task as difficult as uniting all of Albion. At this moment, however, humbled and proud, he began to see the truth in the prophecy Merlin had believed in for so long and with such conviction he'd been willing to risk life and limb to make it come to pass. He would never tell his servant the precise moment he began to believe that with the warlock by his side he could become legend, but then again, he didn't' have to. Merlin had believed it long before he had and Arthur knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that no matter how difficult their chosen path would become they could conquer the world.

Trust. That was what their journey had come down to in the end. And, for the first time in over twenty years, a warlock had finally gained a trust more elusive than any other. Merlin had gained the trust of a king.

_**FIN**_


	36. Sequel

Check out the next story in the series: Aftershocks


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